Iceman
by SerialRavist
Summary: Suppose the Death Corps really did manage to kidnap a Beoulve.
1. Somebody's Sister

_Author's notes: I have to give credit to Enigma of Bishieness and Kortir for prompting me to get off my ass and write something both more action-oriented and with significant deviation from the canon storyline. So hopefully this story kills two birds with one stone. Or, actually, three birds; there's another feature I wanted to get into a story, and I'll be putting it into this one. What's the third bird? You'll see. :)_

_The name of the story is a reference to the Eugene O'Neill play, not the guy from X-Men. Though it's not all that closely related to either, really. Also, the M rating is for... well, a lot of stuff. You'll see what I mean, eventually. It's not a lemon or anything, though._

_I don't own Final Fantasy Tactics. If I did, I'd be rich, and would have a way cooler job.  
_

* * *

_Mama, put my guns in the ground  
I can't shoot them anymore._  
-- Bob Dylan, "Knockin' on Heaven's Door"

Chapter One: Somebody's Sister

"Ouch! That hurts! Let go of me!" Teta struggled to free her wrist from the kidnapper's grasp, but to no avail; his grip was like iron, and he weighed half again what she did. "Let go!"

"Shut it, brat," muttered the man, tugging her out of Igros Castle, into the angling afternoon sunlight. An errant breeze swirled his cloak, the forest green of the Death Corps, and his stubbled face contorted into a grimace as he tugged her arm painfully. "Come on, move it. Don't make me get rough."

Squinting against the sudden light, Teta leaned back, hoping to slow him down, and succeeded only in making her slippers drag along the greyish paving stones towards the man's chocobo. A short distance away, another green-cloak was already tossing a dazed Alma atop a second bird. "Stop it! Let go!"

With an impatient snarl the raider yanked her arm, pulling her stumbling forward to her knees. "Such a pain," he growled. "I hope you're worth the rans..." Abruptly he trailed off, voice growing faint. "Oh, sh--"

Sunlight flashed on metal; the raider screamed and fell back, releasing her arm. Before she could do more than blink, a grey blur turned into Zalbag racing forward, bloodied blade held in one fist.

The other raider flinched. "Damn it!" Snapping his chocobo's reins, he turned and heeled the bird onward, quickly outdistancing the charging Beoulve and disappearing with Alma.

As soon as the man was gone, Zalbag skidded to a cursing halt, then stared off after the lost kidnapper. A few beads of crimson dripped from the tip of his forgotten sword, painting jagged little circles on the stone. Eventually, though, he seemed to stir. "Teta? Are you well?" He spoke over his shoulder, without tearing his eyes from where the other man had disappeared with his half-sister.

Teta nodded with a scowl, working the arm the dead man had been holding. "Yeah, I'm fine, but Alma..."

"Yeah. I know." After a moment Zalbag sighed, then turned to face her with an expression of subdued concern painting his noble features. Rather than say anything more, however, he furrowed brows in a thoughtful frown and advanced to toe the body of the man he'd killed. "We'll have to..."

A staggering Dycedarg interrupted him by appearing from the castle gate. One hand was hidden in the folds of his garments, clutching a wound that had stained his silks liberally with blood. "How did...?"

"Brother!" Forgetting the fallen Death Corps raider, Zalbag bolted to Dycedarg's side and helped ease him to the ground.

"Don't worry about me," snapped Dycedarg, though pain robbed his voice of its usual command. His face was pale behind the beard. "How's Alma?"

"She's gone." Zalbag didn't release his brother, and in fact seemed to be holding him up. "They killed five people and took her."

Dycedarg nodded once, pale eyes drifting to peer in the direction of the escaped raider. "They... were after me, but Zalbag... find them. Hunt them down."

"I will," assured Zalbag grimly. "They won't get far."

"Good." Dycedarg swallowed, fumbling at his wound. "Those bastards are..." His eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped groundward.

Forgetting her own pain, Teta scrambled to her feet and rushed to him, but Zalbag was already there, shaking his brother. "Hey! You there? Dycedarg?"

Slowing to hover uncertainly beside the two men, Teta chewed a lip and found herself gazing over at the dead green-cloak who'd tried to capture her. How had this happened? Igros was a _fortress_. It was safe. People just didn't hack their way in and run off with nobles. And yet somehow they had, and now Alma was in the hands of renegade knights who hated the aristocracy. _Alma... please be safe._

After a moment Zalbag exhaled in clear irritation and lowered Dycedarg to the ground. "Teta... go find a medic, if you would." Honey-colored eyes hardened as they slid to meet her own. "We're about to become very busy."

* * *

Ramza felts his hands curl into fists at his sides. "What do you mean, she's gone?"

"I said she's gone," repeated Dycedarg irritably, staring up from his bed. "The Death Corps came here after me, and took her. Zalbag is out hunting them down as we speak. Don't worry about it, though; everything's all in hand. We won't do anything until she's safe."

Ramza nodded, unwilling to speak. He stood in a study-turned-sickchamber, a tight but cozy space lined with stately mahogany bookshelves, with a crimson rug to soften the stone lines of the floor. The room was hot, courtesy of an unnecessary blaze in the far hearth, and though the heat was doing little for his temper, he had no wish to be rude to his brother. "Do you know where they took her?"

Dycedarg shrugged under the heavy covers. "They'd be insane not to head back to Zeakden. Anywhere else in Hokuten territory would present too much of a risk of us finding her." Sweat slicked his pale face, rolling down through his beard, as though he were sick rather than merely injured.

"Fort Zeakden," echoed Ramza, frowning. That meant mountains. Fighting in the mountains. Zalbag, if he was leading the recovery force, would be unable to advance very quickly. What would he do if the Death Corps put a dagger to Alma's throat and demanded that the Hokuten forces lay down their weapons or some such? The deserters would know who was chasing them, of course, and would have plenty of time to issue such a threat if they wanted to.

When he didn't answer further, Dycedarg nodded up at him. "I heard you destroyed the thieves' hideout. Good work. You should just relax for a while and let Zalbag handle everything else."

_Relax?_ Ramza compressed his lips at this. _How can I relax?_ Dycedarg didn't really feel the same way about Alma as he did; their difference in age, along with the fact that there was only a half-blood relation there, was enough to make his eldest brother view her as sort of a distant niece. Suggesting that he relax demonstrated clearly that his brother didn't understand the situation, not at all. _I'm not going to relax if Alma's in danger._

Eventually, though, he just shook his head. "How's your wound?"

Dycedarg's lips twisted in frustration. "It looks worse than it is. Don't worry. I'll be up in no time."

"Good. I hope so."

"Yeah. If you see Spencer around, send him here. Fool's going to kill me with that fire."

Recognizing a dismissal, Ramza offered a curt nod and spun on his heel, striding for the door. Outside, in the hallway, Delita and Algus straightened from where they'd been leaning against the wall in a chilly silence. Or at least it was chilly on Algus' part; Delita seemed not to care, brown eyes blinking mildly around. Before they could speak, Ramza jerked his head in a silent command to follow, then stalked away from his brother's room, towards the castle gates.

His companions hurried to catch up. "What did he say?" asked Delita.

Ramza shrugged without turning around. He hated being so cold in manner with his friend, but Alma's absence was twisting his insides into knots and Delita would understand. "The Death Corps has Alma and Zalbag is hunting her down. And Dycedarg will probably be on his feet in another day or two."

"The Death Corps took Alma?" echoed Algus beside him in a dark mutter. "Bastards. To think that commoners would lay hands on a noble in such a fashion."

With effort Ramza kept his silence, suppressing the urge to punch Algus. Who in the world cared about their birth? That the Death Corps had kidnapped Alma far outweighed any other fact about them. Lengths and turns of grey hallway drifted past in his rage, illuminated at stark lengths by the occasional oil lamp affixed to one wall.

"So..." Delita trailed off, then cleared his throat. Ahead loomed a golden rectangle of sunlight, the open doorway to the castle grounds. "So, what are you planning to do?"

"I'm going after her. I can't sit here while she's in enemy hands." He wouldn't be able to face Alma later if he simply sat idle while she was gone.

"Oh?" Algus' voice perked up at this. "Lord Dycedarg sent you to follow?"

Ramza felt his lips writhe in helpless frustration. "No. He said to stay here."

"And you want to go anyway?" When he didn't answer, Algus snorted. "Ramza, you shouldn't do anything to endanger your standing with your brothers. They control how quickly you'll advance in rank."

A few steps into the sunlit grounds, Ramza slowed, feeling a frown steal across his face. Then he stopped and turned to face Algus. Something shifted inside, a curiously light and tingly feeling. "Rank?" he repeated in a whisper. Some distance ahead, new leaves on neatly-trimmed trees rippled in a feeble breeze.

Algus nodded, sapphire eyes fixed confidently on his own from within a classic aristocratic face. "Yeah. Zalbag knows what he's doing, doesn't he? Anything you can do with your squad is nothing compared to Zalbag and however many hundreds of soldiers he has with him."

Ramza shuffled a half-step forward, narrowing his eyes. Somewhere nearby, birds chirped happily away, an incongruous and inappropriate sound. "Nothing? She's my _sister_. It doesn't matter what Zalbag is or isn't doing; I'll do everything in my power to make sure she's okay. You don't get it, do you? Do you even have a sister?"

The other man's golden eyebrows climbed in obnoxious skepticism. "Yeah, but Sabrina's already married; I haven't seen her in over a year. What does it matter, though? Orders are orders."

Ramza surprised himself by laughing, though it sounded harsh to his ears, and he took another step forward. "Orders? I don't--"

Somehow Delita appeared in front of him, between him and Algus. "Let's calm down, shall we?" he suggested, glancing from Ramza to Algus and back again. "Getting in each other's faces isn't going to help this."

With a scowl, Ramza turned away and folded arms across his chest. Delita was right; this wouldn't help anything, but he couldn't find it in himself to apologize. The frustration was still boiling too fiercely. "Whatever. Algus, you don't have to come if you're worried about endangering your rank." Sunlight sneaking into the corners of his eyes blinded him, gave him a headache, and he fought the urge to rub his temples.

"Well, I am," sighed Algus grandly, "but they shouldn't have captured a noble like that, like with the Marquis. I'll come along."

Something clicked inside, and Ramza turned back to study Algus narrowly. "Like with the Marquis," he repeated. "You're doing this just because of Alma's rank, aren't you?" _He doesn't care about her at all. She's just a title to him._

Algus spread his hands, puzzled, as though the question were daft. "Of course. You think I'd bother for a commoner?"

Delita tensed, eyes narrowing, but Ramza held up a hand to forestall him, all without taking his eyes off Algus. "Alma is half-commoner," he pointed out, "like I am. What do you think about that? Are you only going to put half the effort into saving her?"

The other fellow shrugged. "No, I'll help. Your name more than makes up for your lineage."

_My name, huh?_ Baring teeth in what he hoped would be interpreted as a smile, Ramza shouldered past the other man and stalked along the path. "Go away, Algus," he called over his shoulder. "I don't want you in our party anymore. You don't... you just don't get it." As he walked, Delita fell in beside him, scowling at the ground.

"Oh, come on," groaned Algus from back near the doorway. "You don't really mean that, do you? What's with you, anyway?"

"Nothing. But don't follow us. I never want to see you again." Tight pain branched from his hands up through his arms, and he took a moment to unclench shaking fists. _What's with me? I've never been this angry before._

Delita remained silent as they strode through the stone paths of the castle grounds, though as they neared the gate to the city he glanced sideways. "Don't you think that was a little harsh?"

Ramza rolled his shoulders irritably. "I don't care. Don't tell me you weren't getting tired of him either."

"Well, I was," admitted Delita with a shrug. "But it's just... well, no matter. Maybe this is for the best."

"Yeah." There was no need for Algus in the squad; Knox was far stronger, and Ramza himself just as skilled with the blade. "We'll be fine. Is all your stuff still packed?"

"How could it not be? We dropped everyone off in the city and then marched straight into the castle."

He nodded. "Good. We're leaving as soon as we can." The path they were following arced over a sculpted brook and around a miniature grove of blossom-laden plum trees, but he ignored it all.

Delita's lips thinned. "Do you care if I tell Teta what we're doing first? I want to say goodbye, at least."

_Teta. His sister._ "Of course." Ramza paused, then sighed, shaking his head. "Of course. Go find her. I'll be in the city, getting the rest of the group together."

His friend grinned. "Okay. Spider's going to be pissed he can't spend the night drinking."

"Whatever. He'll be fine."

With a chuckle, Delita spun and started trotting back towards the castle proper. Ramza continued on, unclenching his fists once more, forcing himself to relax grinding teeth. _Alma, don't worry. I'm coming._

* * *

"Aaaaand, here you go." Jasmine smiled and shifted on her rock. "Though I have to say it would be more appropriate for _you_ to be giving _me_ meat."

Delita laughed as he accepted a handful of cured and salted beef from the chemist. With dark hair and eyes and tanned features, she was pretty, if a little short of beautiful, and flirted like that with all the men in the group. "Isn't there a... a line, or something?"

Her smiled deepened and she ducked her head. "Oh, I wouldn't make you wait." Beside her, Spider snickered but didn't look up from sharpening his daggers; a shorter fellow, his face was shaped such that he always seemed to be wearing a vicious grin, even when he was bored or sleeping.

"I'm sure." Holding Jasmine's eyes a moment longer, Delita silently excused himself and turned away. Almost immediately, however, he collided with the hulking and brutish Knox, though the other man just offered a pleasant nod before slipping past to get his own food.

Tearing a bite from one of the strips in his hand, Delita wandered a short distance away, squinting against the low orange light from the setting sun. Though Mandalia Plains boasted a well-deserved reputation as a place teeming with bloodthirsty monsters, it was peaceful this evening. Peaceful and pretty. Chunks of pale stone jutted up through the ground like stubby fingers, catching the warm sunset glow from the west, and a thin slice of crescent moon was already visible in the east. It wasn't a place to swallow a painter's heart, to be sure, but pleasant enough.

As he chewed, quiet footsteps in rustling grass announced someone approaching; a backwards glanced showed it to be Vector. Wiry and quick, Vector often seemed to be nervous, and looked the part tonight as well, with a wavering smile and his hair in disarray from running fingers through it. Delita greeted him with a nod.

"Hey," offered the other man breathlessly, clearing his throat. "Where's Ramza? June was looking for him just now."

Delita paused to swallow, then pointed off to the northwest. "He wandered over there, probably to think. I was going to talk to him anyway, so I can let him know about her. What did she want, anyway?'

Vector laughed, dark eyes cutting away. "She... I don't know. I think she wants out of watch duty on account of her cold."

Snorting, Delita tore another bite from his rations. "I'll tell him, but I doubt she can expect much sympathy."

"That's what I told her," chuckled Vector. "I'll just... I'm... yeah. Hungry." Smiling again, he half-lifted a hand as though to wave, but paused in the middle of the gesture before awkwardly completing it. Then, sucking air through his teeth, he hurried back towards the main body of the camp.

With a shake of his head Delita continued his own dinner and wandered over to where he'd seen Ramza disappear moments before. The noble wasn't a private man, as such -- he would answer almost any question if asked, though not without possible embarrassment -- but he seldom believed others to have any interest in his problems, and so never spoke of them without prompting. Right now he was doubtless worried sick over Alma. Delita could understand that, himself; just imagining the possibility of Teta getting kidnapped was enough to make him want to punch one of the rocks dotting the plains.

Sure enough, in moments he found Ramza slumped against a chunk of pale stone, staring blankly off at the distant sunset. Some ten paces away, Delita hovered for a moment, gauging the other man's mood, before deciding company was not unwelcome. Stuffing the last of his rations into his mouth, he shuffled forward and dropped to sit next to Ramza.

Long moments slid past before the noble finally spoke. "I... I keep trying to look on the bright side. You know, telling myself she's probably going to be fine, that we got Marquis Elmdor back with only minor injuries." Warm sunlight glittered in worried hazel eyes.

Delita offered a judicious nod. "That's probably true. I get the feeling they only hurt the Marquis just enough to keep him from trying to escape, so since Alma isn't a fighter, she might actually be safer."

"Yeah." Ramza's voice was soft, barely above a whisper. "And she's... pretty, you know? A young woman, and they're mostly men. But they used to be soldiers, right? They should be disciplined, so they wouldn't..." He trailed off, swallowing.

Delita lifted his eyebrows, surprised that sheltered Ramza would even think to worry about such a thing. Rather than answer right away, he tugged a stalk of long grass from the dry soil and began to snap it into ever-smaller segments. "Alma's... she's useless to them except as ransom value, right? So I don't think they'll... you know, _hurt_ her if they're just going to trade her back later." The Death Corps' own self-interest would see to that, if nothing else; future hostages would bring them less gil if previous ones had been mistreated. Everyone had interests pointing their behavior in certain directions, whether they knew it or not.

Ramza shook his head. "That's the whole point, though. She's... 'useless' to a lot of people. How much ransom will Larg really pay them? What if they don't think it's enough? They might just kill her, for... credibility, or whatever."

"I'm not sure about that," admitted Delita with a frown. "Whatever else, she is a Beoulve. To save face Dycedarg and Zalbag would have to attack the Death Corps even more fiercely if they killed her."

"Face," sighed Ramza. "But that's what my brothers doing now, as it is. If things don't go exactly as the Death Corps want, they have next to no reason to leave her alive. And I don't think the name will stop them, Delita; they're anarchists. They kill nobles all the time; that's what they _do_." Squeezing his eyes shut, he let his head thump back against the stone and rubbed a weary hand down his face.

Delita chewed a lip, letting pieces of grass flutter to the ground. Clearly Ramza was in no mood for consolation, so perhaps another approach would be in order. "Are you still set on the plan we talked about earlier?"

The other man didn't answer for some time, but eventually he exhaled briskly and nodded. Straightening, he scooted back against the rock. "Yeah. They'll be busy fighting Zalbag in the passes, so we should be able to slip in the back and get her out."

Delita nodded as well, holding back a smile as he plucked another stalk of grass from the ground. Somewhere in the distance, a bird's two-tone call echoed. "When was the last time you played the reed flute with her?"

Ramza's lips quirked. "A few weeks ago. Just before graduation, before we started taking missions. She laughed and said she was better at it than I was."

"Is she?"

"Yeah. Always will be, too."

Delita chuckled, then pressed his thumbs carefully against the blade of grass and lifted it to his lips. An undignified buzzing assaulted his ears as he blew past the stalk.

With a wry shake of his head Ramza found a likely piece for himself and started playing it. Together under the orange sky, they sat without speaking, played grass and drove nearby insects batty.

* * *

Ramza slowed to a cautious halt, staring up at the knights and spellcasters blocking his way through the plateau. A capricious breeze ruffled his hair and blew reddish rock-dust into his eyes, so he squinted against the stinging while his free hand sought the familiar weight of his sword's hilt. Uphill, against mages... this wouldn't be... _wait. That's Miluda!_

"That's Miluda," murmured Delita beside him, nodding up the rocky slope. Dark hair slapped into his face in the wind, and with a grimace he brushed it back.

"Yeah, I see." Scowling, Ramza stepped forward, but the knight ahead spoke before he could.

"I'd rather die here than get taken prisoner!" she growled to a subordinate near her. "Besides, if they catch us, they'll execute us anyway. Fighting is the only way out!" As she spoke her blade left its scabbard with a glittering hiss, a gesture repeated among all her weapon-bearing troops.

Doing likewise, Ramza stared angrily up the slope, but there was no time to demand answers; they were already rushing. With a scream he did the same, shield held upright before him, blade swirling over his head, but rather than attack mindlessly, he sought Miluda. She was the officer here; she would know, if anyone did, what Alma's situation was. The rest of his group charged as well, those not hanging back to wield bows, potions or spells.

Before he could reach Miluda, however, another knight darted to meet him. A vicious swing with her heavy blade rattled his shield arm up to the shoulder, and he countered with a low swipe that managed to catch her left calf without totally crippling her. The woman grunted, but didn't scream and didn't back down. Sometimes the higher ground provided no advantage.

Shouting and chanting from elsewhere on the slope spoke to the battle joining all around, and he paid attention with only half an ear. The Death Corps mages were busy preparing nasty surprises for his people, he suspected, while Delita took the opportunity simply to hack one spellcaster down in the act. All too soon, however, the wounded knight recovered and began to circle him, limping, hoping to find an opening on his shield-less side.

Ramza wasn't about to let that happen. Once she attacked, he twisted into it, again almost losing feeling in his shield arm due to the forceful impact. Then, without slowing his momentum, he continued on into a backhanded slash that hacked deeply into the woman's thigh. This time she did scream, but not for long, because whooshing flames abruptly engulfed her garments, courtesy of June, and an arrow hissed into her throat, courtesy of Vector.

Ignoring the knight, Ramza glanced about in search of Miluda and found her a short distance away, blade held high as she prepared to deal the finishing blow to a crouched and wounded Spider. Shouting, he ran at her, stumbling as his boots slipped on a bare rocky surface, and managed to bowl into her just as her blade was whistling down.

The weapon's edge caught his shoulder, but he had only a blink to recognize the pain before they both tumbled against the rocks in a tangle of fists, shields and armor. Snarling half in fear, half in desperation, he tried to keep one hand gripped around the woman's wrist while he fumbled for the sword he'd dropped, but all it earned him was a mailed fist in the face and stars in his vision. _Damn it! She's strong._ With a frustrated grunt he let go of Miluda and rolled away to where his blade lay, then grabbed it and hopped to his feet.

She was already up, already facing him, windblown hair rippling into her grim and scowling face. "You won't capture me, Hokuten."

"I don't care about you," he growled, hacking at her and serving only to add a dent to her shield. "I care about my sister. Where is she? Where's Alma?"

"Oh? You're a Beoulve?" Miluda actually laughed at this, then slid sideways to deliver a wicked slice to his midsection, which he barely blocked. "She's in a safe place. Where did you think we'd put her?"

"She's a monastery student," he snapped. "An innocent. She has nothing to do with this, so just give her back!"

"Yeah," snickered Miluda, delivering an overhead slash to his shield. "We'll get right on that. Right after you nobles give back all the things you've taken from us. When are you going to do that, Beoulve? I'm sure you'll sister will be interested in finding out."

Ramza snarled, locking blades with the woman. She countered with a knee to his crotch, which he avoided as he drove an elbow into her face. "Alma never took anything from you," he hissed. "Neither did I! This doesn't help anything! At least if you'd taken... Larg, or Dycedarg or someone, I'd still fight you to get them back, but I wouldn't hate you." As soon as the word left his mouth, he blinked, and the distraction nearly cost him an arm to a looping backhanded slash from Miluda.

_Hate._ He'd never used the word aloud before, not in seriousness... but it fit. There was no twist to his gut to tell him he'd been lying, no nervous fluttering in his chest prompting him to grin and backpedal and apologize. Miluda was someone who could capture an innocent and laugh about it. _I hate her. I hate all of them._

Still, he reflected as he scored a gash across an unprotected line of the woman's arm, there was no need to get carried away. No need to get lost in it, no need to stew. It was enough simply to keep on as he was, with hatred simply an additional motivation; he wasn't comfortable enough yet with the feeling to do more with it. Whatever else, hate or not, there would never be an excuse to threaten innocents, to gloat over it to someone who cared about them. _That's what separates me from these people._

Abruptly his introspection was shattered as Miluda's blade sank into his side and then sawed back out. Panting, rasping, he dropped to one knee, clutching the wound with his shaking shield hand. A line of bright crimson splatters inked the rocky ground, following the arc of his opponent's weapon as it had withdrawn after cutting him, and more liquid leaked through his fingers to join it as he watched. Drawing a ragged breath, he squinted up at Miluda's face, silhouetted against the afternoon sun. The fingers of his other hand tightened on his sword's hilt.

"Our cause is just, noble," declared the knight standing above him. Pale hair fluttering in the wind made a makeshift halo around her head, and sunlight gleamed brilliantly on her stained blade as she raised it to rest on one shoulder. "You can't crush justice with force. Someday, my brother and I will--"

He interrupted her by lunging to his feet, sword in hand, driving the weapon's point up through her chin and into her skull. Miluda jerked, dropping her own sword, and then they were falling, toppling to the hard scrub-kissed rocks.

Somehow he landed on his injury and the pain nearly drove him to unconsciousness. Gasping, he rolled aside and curled into a shaking ball. Fish hooks and barbed lightning screamed through his whole torso and he simply lay there for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside.

As it was doing so, strong hands gripped him, pulled him up to a seated position. "Can you stand?" asked Knox's quiet voice.

"Damn it. Yeah." Swallowing, Ramza shook the remaining stars from his sight and found Miluda. She was very obviously dead, lying on her back with his sword still grotesquely entombed in her head. "Where... how's...?"

"Everyone else is fine," assured the knight, helping him to his feet. "Or at least alive. You just had to seek out the most skilled opponent again, didn't you?"

Sighing, he glanced around to see that the other man was correct; his people were already looting the enemy dead, waiting for precious crystals to form. Spider was the only other one to carry any serious wounds, and Jasmine was tending to him already.

Almost immediately, though, Ramza's eyes snapped back to Miluda's corpse. Something stirred in his middle, something sour and uncomfortable. "Knox, I've... I've never killed a woman before." His words came out in a whisper. "Not like that, not with my own hands." _My brother and I. She was somebody's sister._

Beside him, the mountainous knight nodded once, dark eyes tight in a broad face as they examined the body. "She attacked us, Ramza. She was a soldier. She knew what she was getting into."

"A soldier." _Somebody's sister._ The hilt of his sword hovered above her stomach, still locked in the angle in which he'd driven it into her, and her eyes, pretty green eyes, were fixed in wide surprise on some point in the sky. "Yeah."

A soft scraping, leather on stone, announced Delita approaching. He was limping and a moderate amount of blood stained his right thigh, but he seemed otherwise in good health. "You okay, Ramza?"

Rather than answer, Ramza found himself glancing down, at his hands. They were red. Totally red, as though he'd washed them in paint, red and dripping up to the elbows. Some of it was his own. Some. "I... I should have tried to talk to her more."

Delita shuffled to a halt on his other side. "What?"

He closed his eyes for a moment before explaining. "I asked her about Alma and she didn't answer me, but then I just... fought her. I should have tried to talk more. Should have tried to figure some solution out."

A short silence followed; glancing up, he saw Delita and Knox exchanging strange, unreadable glances. Eventually, though, Delita shifted and delivered a playful punch to his uninjured shoulder. "Come on. Let's get you potioned up."

* * *

Delita wiped sweat from his eyes as they topped a rocky hill. Less than a quarter-mile away stood a lone windmill spinning in lazy majesty, seemingly out-of-place among the barren and craggy folds in the world's surface. Vector had scouted ahead earlier in the day and claimed this was the place, but Delita could see no one in evidence anywhere near it. Had they already left? Moved to some other temporary base?

"Where are they?" wondered Ramza beside him. Under a mess of sand-colored hair his face had tanned noticeably in recent weeks, despite the chill in this part of the country. "Let's go ahead before they notice us." Without another word he trotted forward, clinking with every step.

Rolling his eyes, Delita followed, and the rest of the party did likewise along with him. At his side, June tugged that ridiculous straw hat even lower over her eyes, though why, he couldn't say; her face was little but shadow even as it was.

Shortly they reached the cleared area around the windmill. Ramza slowed, hazel eyes darting all around in obvious suspicion, at the windmill itself, at the rocky path leading to it.

Delita frowned next to him, drawing his own sword from its scabbard. Above, a regular creaking issued from the windmill blades, wood and rope and canvas rotating in an endless cycle, but apart from that... it was too quiet.

After a moment Ramza cleared his throat. "We should--"

He stopped with a grunt as people started appearing from around the corner of the windmill structure, first and foremost among them the unmistakable striding form of Wiegraf. Following in the wake of his flapping cloak came a handful of his people, all women, knights and monks and even a chocobo.

Instantly Wiegraf froze, and his attention snapped in the direction of their party. Forceful dark eyes flickered past, towards where they'd approached, and shortly his lips peeled back in a snarl. "It was you, wasn't it?" he roared, one fist quivering in front of his chest. "You cadets are the ones who killed my sister!" A breeze tugged his white cape haphazardly about his ankles while his soldiers assumed cautious stances nearby.

Ramza spared Delita a strange glance. "_He's_ Miluda's brother?"

Delita lifted his eyebrows and nodded back at Wiegraf without speaking. The Death Corps captain was too dangerous an opponent to ignore in favor of idle chatter.

"I have no choice, then!" continued Wiegraf. "I'll avenge Miluda!" Drawing his sword with grim purpose, he held it sunward for a moment, then slashed it forward with a wordless shout.

Delita was already running, as were the others in the group. Most of the green-cloaks were atop a short ridge, accessible only by a narrow set of stairs, and Ramza was already angling towards them. _In that case, _he reasoned, _I should head over--_

A sharp and savage cry interrupted his thinking as one of the enemy monks leapt from the rocks. A blink later one of her boots connected solidly with his head.

When the stars cleared Delita climbed to his feet and grimaced. _Damn it! Seriously, who does that?_ The monk was just rising as well, watching him guardedly.

As the sounds of joining battle swirled around him, he lunged forward to cut backhanded across the woman's stomach but she simply leapt back, just out of range of his strike. Before he could recover, she danced back towards him; somehow her arm got tangled into his own, and then he was flipping, flailing to crash on his back onto the hard ground.

Rather than try to rise, he reached instinctively back and found an ankle. With a snarl he tugged it, pulling the slippery woman off her feet. She landed with a rough curse behind him and he followed without releasing her, without allowing a chance to recover. While he climbed up her legs to grapple, she pummeled his head and arms with quick snapping strikes. She hit _hard,_ too, with fists like rocks, but he ignored the bruising he was taking, instead wedging his sword between their bodies and using it to saw open her throat. The nameless monk spasmed once and went still; red liquid life spilled over his gloved hands.

Shaking his head groggily, Delita took a deep breath and climbed back to his feet. Ramza might have issues killing women who were trying to kill him, but he wasn't quite so squeamish.

A quick moment of surveying the battle found his childhood friend engaged in single combat with Wiegraf, the two men circling and sidestepping as they exchanged clipped words in heated voices. Vector was kneeling a short distance away on the stairs, one eye squinted shut as he aimed an arrow in Wiegraf's direction, while Knox stood like a wall protecting the archer from two enemy monks intent on taking him down. Down below the ridge, near Delita himself, Spider and June seemed to be having some difficulty with the chocobo, which had undoubtedly healed itself at least once already.

_I hate fighting those things,_ sighed Delita as he limped towards the yellow bird. _Never know when to give up and--_

"Delita!"

Blinking, he twisted, then barely managed to catch a thrown potion from Jasmine before it struck him in the face. With a nod of thanks, he tugged the cork out with his teeth, then spat it aside and downed the tart concoction in one grimacing gulp.

A familiar heat washed through his limbs, accompanied by a vague sense of relaxation as some of the pain from his injuries melted away, but he was already jogging forward to where his friends were battling the damn chocobo. One savage slash cut the wounded animal down from behind, earning him a weak grin of gratitude from Spider and absolutely nothing from June, who ignored him to start casting something at Wiegraf.

Before the spell could go off, however, an arrow appeared in Wiegraf's already-bloody side and he stumbled to one knee. "Miluda, forgive me," he hissed through clenched teeth, "but I can't die here."

Ramza stared coldly down at him. "You're not running away, Wiegraf."

The other man laughed and climbed unsteadily back to his feet. Odd patches of blood stained the ornate splendor of his white cape. "Remember, Beoulve. Ask Dycedarg about the Marquis and watch his eyes. You'll see he's lying to you." With another laugh, he turned and stumbled off into the surrounding rocks.

Ramza tensed, eyes narrowing as though he were considering giving chase, but then he spun to stare at the windmill shed. "Alma!" Without another word he sprinted towards the door.

"Damn it! Ramza!" Ignoring the ache of his remaining injuries, Delita ran to the ledge then jumped and pulled himself awkwardly up. Once to the top, he ducked around Jasmine tending to Knox and shouldered through the door after Ramza.

The interior of the shed was stark and utilitarian, containing only the massive shaft of the drive mechanism, a few scattered wooden crates and the hollow glow of ambient afternoon sunlight. It was also obviously empty of people, but Ramza hurried from place to place searching anyway, even going so far as to peer up at the gears of the drive. Eventually, though, his face went tight with ill-controlled anger and he kicked a crate, rattling a slat from one of its sides in the process. "Alma," he whispered, staring down at clenched fists. "Delita, she's... I thought she might be in here, but..."

Nodding, Delita shuffled across worn floor planks to where his friend was slumping to his knees. "Hey. She's probably at Zeakden, right? I mean, that was our plan all along, to get her back there."

"Yeah, I know." Ramza squeezed his eyes shut and drew a ragged breath. The lost expression on his dust-smeared face belonged to a much older man. "She's... I know."

"So it's no big deal, right?" continued Delita, trying to keep his voice optimistic. "I mean, it would have been nice to find her here, but now we're just extra-sure that we know where she is. We'll still get her back."

Ramza's eyes flickered back open, then stared soberly up at him, steady bronze circles brooking little in the way of illusions. "What if we don't? What if she's... hidden somewhere else, or already dead? What then?"

Delita smiled in what he hoped was an assuring fashion. "Don't look at it like that. If you're just going to assume the worst, why even try? You can't live without at least _some_ hope."

Moments slipped past in a silence broken only by the rhythmic creak of the windmill mechanism, but eventually Ramza sighed and nodded. "Yeah. I... I guess you're right."

Thinning his lips, Delita nodded as well and offered a hand down to the other man, helping him to his feet. "Look. By nightfall tomorrow we'll be sitting around a fire with Alma and you'll be explaining to her why it took you so long to save her."

Ramza chuckled at this, though only a ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Yeah. Let's get everyone else and go. I want to move as quickly as possible."

* * *

"...enough to blow you all to hell and back!" a man's voice was shouting. "Got it? Then get out!"

Teeth clenched in tight desperation, Ramza hurried along the edge of the fort, leaping over green-cloaked bodies gathering a dusty coating of snow in the overcast twilight. The white Hokuten cloak he was wearing against the mountain chill flapped awkwardly around his ankles with every step, threatening to trip him; he wasn't accustomed to wearing it, but it was cold out.

As he hurried around a corner of the stone structure, another party, dressed in similar fashion to his own, popped into view atop a snow-crusted ledge ahead. He spotted Zalbag at their front, golden eyebrows drawn together in stern indignation, though his attention was focused on someone near the front of the fort, probably the man who'd been speaking. Beside him stood Algus at rigid attention, crossbow in one hand, and beyond the two of them waited a handful of other Hokuten, knights and wizards standing motionless in silent menace.

Zalbag's eyes flickered briefly towards Ramza but when he spoke again it was at the first man. "The Hokuten will never be threatened by you!" His clear tenor rang out, defiant but muted by the snow.

Quickly Ramza reached the next corner of the fort and turned to see who the other man was... only to skid to a horrified halt in the fluffy snow. Up on a wooden walkway to the fort's entrance stood a Death Corps knight he recognized by description as Golagros, but what caught his attention was Alma, hands tied behind her back and in the knight's grasp. She looked pale, cold; they hadn't even given her a coat.

It took a moment before he could find his voice. "Alma!" He couldn't tear his gaze away from her, couldn't do anything but stare. How to get up there, without alerting Golagros?

Her head jerked up and her eyes grew wide. "Brother!" Fear twisted her features but she struggled anyway, trying to pull away from the knight who held her captive.

Golagros tensed in response, inching backwards along the walkway, drawing Alma along with him. "Get out!" he shouted. "Now!" Panicked eyes darted from side to side, attempting to keep both Ramza and Zalbag in view.

"Go on," ordered Zalbag's voice. "Do it."

"Yes, sir!" acknowledged Algus. A crossbow snapped.

Though the bolt struck Golagros in the chest, Alma flinched at its passage. Booted feet slid back, then slipped on ice-crust. Terrified brown eyes widened further, if possible, as she pitched backwards, off the walkway.

Ramza broke into a sprint, heartbeat nothing but hollow thunder. Red silk rippled downward through the snowy dimness. Nobody said a word.

She struck the ground an instant before he reached her.

His legs gave out, throwing him to skid on his knees over the last few paces, and with shaking hands he touched his sister's shoulder. She lay face-down in the snow, golden hair in pooled disarray around her head; much of it had come loose from that ribbon she always wore. "A... Alma?" His voice came out choked, broken, and he swallowed. "Alma, are you...? Please..."

She didn't move, didn't answer. Snowflakes alighted on her dress, on her bare hands, some quickly melting.

"Alma?" Trembling, he gave her shoulder a gentle shake, then rolled her onto her back; she flopped limply over in his hands.

Eyes just like his own, the color of polished oak, of honey, stared widely up at the heavens, past his face. Her mouth was open, frozen perhaps in a gasp, perhaps in preparation to scream. Drifting snowflakes settled on the tiny freckles dotting her nose and cheeks, on her eyes, and she didn't blink them away.

He gasped a sudden laugh. "Alma, don't... don't play around. Now isn't the..." Warm tears now fell with the snow, fracturing against her chin, disappearing into her dress. "You always... Alma, please... please just..." Moisture blurred his vision, stole the words from his throat. Squeezing his eyes shut, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against her own, and shook. Shook and waited and held her.

Some time later -- he had no idea how much -- someone's boots crunched faintly in the new snow behind him. Two pairs of boots; two people. They stopped a short distance away.

Swallowing hard, he lifted his head from his sister's and brushed pale hair away from her face. Her neck was... there was something wrong with it, he saw now, like it was angled slightly wrong. Broken. She still stared fearfully past him, gazing skyward. At her new home, he supposed.

Slumping, he closed her terrified staring eyes, then placed a kiss on her forehead. Her skin was already growing cool to the touch.

Before he could totally lose his composure he stood on legs that felt like lead. Somehow Alma looked very small now, very pale in spills of red silk slowly gathering a coating of white. The snow kissed his own cheeks as well, stuck to lines of cooling moisture traced down the skin there, and with an angry scrub of one sleeve he wiped them dry before turning around.

Delita and Algus stood there a few paces away, a little farther apart than they would have stood before. Though grim anger clouded Delita's face, Algus looked the same as always, arrogant and a little angry.

Ramza nodded stiffly to greet them, then blinked. "Where's Zalbag? He should be here."

Algus shrugged. "We received reports of the remaining Death Corps only a short distance away on the path, led by Wiegraf, so he went to meet them."

"He _left?_ At a time like this?" Surely Zalbag could have left the Death Corps to a subordinate while he himself checked on Alma.

"Of course. It's not like Alma is going anywhere." As he spoke, Algus glanced back, to where Zalbag had been.

Ramza stiffened further, forcing himself to calm down so as not to strike the other man. "Golagros?" He could vaguely recall more fighting after he'd run to Alma, more shots from the crossbow; likely the knight was already dead on the walkway above.

"Got him," grinned Algus, lifting his crossbow for a moment. "He was the last one here." The other soldiers, of both groups, began wandering over to where the three of them stood, perhaps deciding the mood was sufficiently mundane now.

Nodding, Ramza rubbed a hand over his face. He was still shaking.

Algus seemed to noticed this as well, for his grin faded and he cleared his throat. "So," he began, shifting his feet, "I guess... I don't know. Maybe you should look on the bright side."

Ramza paused with his hand still over his mouth, then felt himself frowning at the other cadet. _Bright side?_

When he didn't speak, Algus shifted again and continued with an encouraging nod. "Yeah. I mean, she was your sister and everything, but only Zalbag's and Dycedarg's half-sister, so hopefully they won't feel as upset as you do. As a half-blood, she..."

Without hesitation Ramza punched him in the face. Algus staggered backwards a few steps, now bleeding freely from the nose. A half-dozen swords left their scabbards all around, from both groups of soldiers; one of Algus' archers leveled a broadhead arrow at Ramza over this offense, causing Vector to target him in turn. The spellcasters simply crouched in place, hands raised, prepared to cast. Snow still drifted sedately downward in a world inching closer to dusk.

After a moment Algus seemed to recover, shaking droplets of blood from the hand he'd used to clutch his nose. A cold sneer stole over his features, and the grin that curled his lips had nothing of joy in it. "What the hell's your problem, anyway? I should warn you not to cause any trouble, though; I command the knights still here... and, since you ran off when you were supposed to stay put, I command _you_. I could have you flogged for assaulting an offic--"

Ramza punched him again, and this time did not allow a moment of recovery; while the other man still reeled, he drew his own blade and slashed Algus across the stomach. Someone shouted, maybe Delita, and then everyone was fighting, blades clashing everywhere. Hokuten fighting _each other_. Ramza ignored them all, though; he only wanted Algus.

His new enemy wasted no time on gloating this time. With blood already dripping from his nose, leaking out from his stomach, he raised his crossbow and fired off a bolt.

Cold pain stabbed into Ramza's thigh, near the bone, making him stumble to one knee. This, however, presented him with an opportunity to hack upwards, into and through the other man's outstretched arm.

Algus screamed, doubling over what remained of the limb as his forearm and crossbow tumbled wetly to the snow. Ramza kept up the attack without mercy, hacking again into his former friend's side before simply tossing his sword aside and tackling Algus to the ground with a wordless roar.

It was a simple matter to climb on top, to use his knees to pin a snarling and struggling Algus into place. Then, with his hands free, Ramza started punching again, driving one fist after another into the man's face, screaming the entire time. He couldn't remember ever being so angry before, but it hardly seemed important now. A red haze obscured his vision, but at least it let him see what he needed.

"_Why_ did you _do_ it?" When his rage finally found words, he punctuated them with savage punches, strikes intended not to injure or stun but to crush. "My _sister_ was _right there!_ _What _the _hell _did you _think _was _going _to _happen? _I _hate_ you _so much! _I--_"_

Someone grabbed his wrist. Snarling, he spun to strike with his other hand, only to see his fist splat into Delita's open hand.

Vector crouched nearby as well, smiling awkwardly. "Ramza, he's, um... I think he's already dead."

Blinking, Ramza glanced around, noting his people just standing there, watching him; Knox seemed to be bleeding heavily from a wound on his head, though Jasmine was tending to it, and blood had soaked Spider's whole left sleeve. "What? What happened to everyone else?"

"Fight's already over," explained Delita in a low voice, planting hands on his knees and standing upright. "You've been beating Algus for a while now. Look at him."

With a sinking sensation in his stomach Ramza complied. And then froze. Algus was... totally unrecognizable. There was next to nothing left of his face, and the bones in it had fractured and collapsed, leaving a halo of crimson splatters in the snow around his ruined skull. Ramza's own hands sported several cuts, or perhaps just places where his knuckles had split under impact, and once again his arms and chest were nearly solid red.

Part of him supposed he should feel disgusted or possibly sick, but there was curiously little inside him as he climbed to his feet. The Hokuten cloak tugged at his neck and with a grimace he fumbled the thing apart, using it to wipe the blood from himself before letting it settle over Algus like a shroud. _I'll never wear one of those again._ Without its protection the icy mountain chill started settling into him.

Delita and the others were still watching him, silent, uncertain. He just stared back, wondering what the hell they expected him to do. Fluffy snow drifted down out of the dimness, tickling his face, settling on the bloodied corpse below him.

After a moment he turned his back on them and stepped to where Alma still lay. Squatting on his heels, he slid arms under her motionless form and lifted. It had been a while since he'd carried her anywhere, a few years, but she was still light, a limp and lifeless weight dangling arms towards the ground. Some of the blood he hadn't been able to clean from his armor stuck to her crimson silks, and he wanted to shake his head. She'd always gotten annoyed whenever he'd gotten things on her clothes, mud, sometimes food.

"Ramza?" Delita's voice called out from behind him. "What are you... do you need some help?"

He closed his eyes for a time before exhaling slowly. "No. I'm going to find somewhere to bury her."

"Do you want someone to go tell Zalbag what happened?"

"No." His jaw clenched at the thought; Zalbag had seen his sister fall, and then had run off to fight the commander of an already-doomed militia without bothering to check on her. "No. He's not a brother anymore. I don't care." Snow crunched under his boots as he set off walking away from the fort, away from everything.

"Ramza? Should... we can make camp if you want."

He shook his head at this, though the gesture seemed like almost too much work to be worth it. "Don't bother. Everybody just... just go home. I'm done fighting. The group is disbanded. Go back to... to your families, or whatever."

"Ramza, are you sure?" A note of concern had crept into Delita's voice. "Wait. Just..."

Ramza ignored him. Instead he carried his sister away, hoping to find somewhere peaceful. Somewhere she could rest forever, rest until it was his time to meet her again.


	2. Dirty Hands

_Author's Notes: Many thanks to Jeretarius, who is beta-reading this beast for me._

* * *

_Only within the scaffolding of these truths, only on the firm foundation of unyielding despair, can the soul's habitation henceforth be safely built. _  
-- Bertrand Russell, "A Free Man's Worship"

Chapter Two: Dirty Hands

The tavern stool under Delita wasn't totally straight; one leg was shorter than the others, and the thing had a tendency to tip one way or the other depending on which way he leaned. In the White Feather, in Dorter, the common room crowd was usually rowdy and it was again tonight, as local men and women -- but mostly men -- burned off the day's work in the form of drinking, singing, dicing and fighting. By and large they weren't bad fellows; it wasn't a place a man would take his mother, of course, but his sister would likely be fine if she wasn't looking to start trouble.

As he nursed a wooden goblet of cheap plum wine, one of the serving girls approached their tiny square table. "Hey," she greeted, grinning. Winter, he thought her name was. "Need anything else?"

Leaning back in his chair -- and tensing as it shifted again -- Delita smiled at the girl, making her grin widen. Women liked to smile at him. "No, I'm fine. Ramza?"

Ramza didn't answer, just stared with dead eyes into his milk. Somewhere else in the place, a woman's shrill laughter bubbled up before the contained roar of half-drunken levity swallowed it again.

Winter's smile slipped slightly at this lack of reaction, but shortly she recovered herself and snickered. "Well, alright. But don't think I won't be back."

Delita held her eyes for a moment before she spun and disappeared into the crowd. Then, putting the girl out of his mind, he retrieved his wine again and sipped from it.

Two weeks. They'd been at this for two weeks, drifting without goal or purpose from town to city to town, living off the combined contents of their two coinpurses. But mostly Ramza's. Two weeks of inns and taverns blurring together into a seamless gritty whole. Two weeks of road dust that stuck to tired sun-sweat and made his nose run. Two weeks of grieving which had let him acknowledge, if sadly, the death of a friend, but during those same two weeks he'd seen Ramza grow ever more quiet until he seemed a walking corpse himself.

With a shake of his head Delita downed the rest of the wine. Then, leaning over the table, he delivered a solid clap to his friend's shoulder. "Hey. You about ready to call it a night?"

Ramza blinked several times before his eyes focused, and even then he just stared back for a moment before slumping. "Sure," he whispered, his voice nearly lost to the crowd noise. "Just let me finish..." Without bothering to complete his sentence he reached for his milk, grimacing as though it weighed as much as a man, and started gulping it down.

Before he finished, however, a greying man in black armor dragged a chair to their table and sat down, uninvited. "You wouldn't believe how hard it is to find a place to sit in here sometimes," he sighed, adjusting the sword on his left hip. Ramza shifted his lifeless stare to the new fellow but said nothing.

Delita found himself eyeing the newcomer with mild suspicion; he could have sat in the empty chair at its original table without pulling it to their own. "Who are you? What do you want?"

The man grinned; pale eyes, blue like an eagle's, stared out from under snowy eyebrows with no sign of genuine levity. "Gaff Gafgarion. Who are you?"

Delita blinked. He knew that name; Gafgarion was well-known in mercenary circles. "What do you want with us?"

The sellsword shrugged. "I'm a mercenary. I do... things. For... people. I lost a man on a recent job and was looking to replace him. You guys look like you know your way around a battlefield."

Though Ramza simply stared at Gafgarion as though not entirely comprehending the conversation, Delita found himself glancing around the inside of the tavern, looking for... _there_. A man at the bar, a lanky squire about his own age, trying to watch their table without seeming to, which served only to draw attention to himself. _One guy; how many others?_ A hasty scan of the rest of the room showed no one else with an interest in their table.

Lifting his eyebrows, Delita shifted on the chair and fixed Gafgarion with a cautious stare. "Why us? This place is full of men who can handle themselves in fights."

"Yeah, with fists or knives," chuckled the mercenary. "That's not what I'm looking for, though. That sword looks like you wear it comfortably, and you have the look of a man of steady nerve." He paused, nodding towards Ramza. "And though most people here are slowing their wits with booze, your friend here is drinking milk. That speaks of cold discipline, to me. Useful on the battlefield."

_Milk, huh?_ Delita caught his friend's eye over the table and saw nothing but doubt written there. "Could you excuse us for a moment?" he murmured, glancing to Gafgarion once more. "We'd like to discuss this."

The older man spread his hands as though to show he was hiding nothing. "Of course." Scraping back his borrowed chair, he stood and nodded; armored plates clinked together with his movements. "Of course. I'm not leaving Dorter until tomorrow morning anyway, so find me here at two hours past dawn if you're interested. Pay'll be by the job, but it should average out to about eight hundred per month, plus a hundred for joining, per person." With one final nod he turned and shouldered his way through the crowd, ignoring angry words from those he jostled. The squire rose as well, flipping a few coins to the bar, and together the two men departed into the night.

Once they were gone, Delita lifted his eyebrows at Ramza. "That's a good deal."

The other man scowled at the tabletop. "I don't trust him. It's too much money and he's never heard of us before."

"The money is probably because we're supposed to buy our own equipment," countered Delita. "And who cares? We need it."

Ramza grunted. "Not that badly."

Delita smiled wryly. "We have just over a hundred gil between us right now. That's enough for... what, three more days of this? Four, if we don't drink at night? Where did you think we were going to get our money?"

"I don't care."

"Well, regardless," he continued, frowning into his empty mug, "it has to come from somewhere. Or were you just planning to turn to crime?"

Ramza's lips writhed and he didn't lift his gaze. "No. Just... a craft, maybe. Settle somewhere."

"And do what?" Delita waited, but his friend didn't answer. "You don't have any skills people want, except for fighting."

"I don't want to fight anymore."

Delita shrugged, shifting his gaze to the common room crowd. "Well, nobody _wants_ to fight. It's just a profession, like any other. And we still need the money."

"It's just money, Delita. It's not that important."

He smiled. _Still a noble._ "Don't you have a plan at all, though? We've been just wandering around Gallione for weeks. If you want to do this for the rest of your life you still need a way to earn money."

Sandy eyebrows drew angrily together. "I don't care, Delita. It's not worth worrying about my life anymore. I just... don't care."

His eyes widened despite himself. "Ramza... is that really how you feel?" His friend didn't answer, and Delita suppressed the sudden urge to smack him. _For crying out loud, Ramza. Pull yourself together. I know your sister's gone but you can at least still function, can't you?_ Waiting a moment to steady his temper, he sighed. "If that's the case, then... look on the bright side. While we're out fighting, you might die."

Ramza blinked at this, then finally lifted his head. His face wore a peculiar expression, one Delita couldn't read. "That's true," he decided, eyes cutting thoughtfully to one side. "You're right; it's all kind of... kind of stupid, isn't it? Let's do it."

"Really?" _That's what convinced him? He's not healthy, is he?_ Delita pursed his lips for a moment but nodded. "Okay. Let's go find an inn."

Ramza nodded as well, planting hands on the table and standing. "I don't want to give him my real name, Delita. Ramza Beoulve is dead."

"Whatever. Fine." Delita shook his head as he rose, then slid his chair back under the table. "But if he knows my name, he might figure out who you are." Gafgarion didn't seem like a man easily fooled.

"Then you can give him a fake one too. Let's go; I'm tired."

* * *

Cold rain angled out of a leaden sky. Ramza huddled under the sparse protective boughs of a blue pine, peering through branches and needles at the mud-slicked road twenty paces ahead. Despite the trees in his little thicket rain still found him, dripping from his hair, sneaking under his new knight-grade armor and down the back of his shirt, but he ignored it; in recent months he'd grown accustomed to the elements. One gloved hand gripped the hilt of his blade, ready to draw. It would be time, soon.

"Remember," whispered Gafgarion from where he was hidden a few paces away. "It's Tensberger and his three guards, but the contract is just for Tensberger."

Beside Ramza, Delita nodded once, as did Rad on his other side, but Ramza himself remained motionless. Sometimes moving just... wasn't worth the effort. A low rumble of thunder sounded somewhere overhead, though the whisper of the rain didn't change a bit, slithering through pine needles, pattering into the wet soil. Ahead and all around, long grass stood motionless in the still afternoon air.

Gafgarion had explained the plan earlier in the day. Tensberger was a knight, he'd claimed, one who'd gone renegade or perhaps had crossed someone with clout, but the reasons weren't important. What mattered was what he'd been marked to die. And this place, a few hours east out of Gariland, had been the place marked in which to do it.

Ramza didn't particularly like this setup; it sounded less like mercenary work and more like assassination. When he'd put the question to Gafgarion in the morning, however, the older man had replied curtly and without concern. _Assassins are just mercenaries with more skills. Suck it up and do your job, kid._

He shook his head. _My job._ All he was supposed to do was occupy one of the guards while Gafgarion killed the knight, and Delita and Rad would take care of the other two guards. Simple enough. _He's right. That's my job now._ In any case, he wasn't certain how much sense it made to worry about assassination when the target was himself a military man used to such risks, and who likely outclassed Ramza himself in skill.

Thunder grumbled again, echoing across the face of the world. Rad stifled a sneeze, then sniffled.

While the rangy squire wiped his nose with the back of a gloved hand, a flicker of motion through the trees shortly resolved into a white-cloaked man on the back of a golden chocobo, accompanied by another knight and two squires on foot. Hokuten, all. Ramza fought the urge to shake his head again.

As the four approached, the two squires seemed to be chatting, judging by their gestures, though at two hundred paces and through rain there was no way to make out their words. None of the men seemed to be paying any attention to the copse of trees in which Ramza and his companions stood, and they closed with excruciating slowness.

"I call the knight," murmured Delita, slicking wet hair back from his face.

Ramza scowled at the road, just a few paces away. "Don't be foolish."

"Oh? You don't think I can take him?" Despite his challenging words, the other man's tone was light, amused.

"It's not that." At least if he himself died, the world wouldn't mind much, but Delita still had family.

"Oh, fine. You take all the fun out of fighting."

_Fun? Fighting shouldn't be fun. _As the other party approached, Ramza forced the scowl from his face with effort.

"Steady," whispered Gafgarion through the branches concealing him. "I'll hit the chocobo first, then follow my lead."

Ramza gripped his blade hilt more tightly and blinked rainwater from his eyes. The other group wasn't far away now, and still nobody had thought to peer through the pine boughs so close to the road. Chocobo claws squelched in reddish mud; one of the men chuckled at another's joke. _Twelve paces... eight..._

At six paces, Gafgarion strode casually out of the trees, slashing his sword downward in a familiar attack. While the other party gaped and a low ominous hum arose from nowhere, Ramza hurried out of concealment with the others.

The knight guard blocked his first attack just as Gafgarion's Night Sword sliced into the hapless chocobo. Ramza followed up without mercy, hoping to score an advantage while his enemy was still surprised, and indeed he managed to gash the other man's shoulder before the two of them settled in to fight in earnest.

Ignoring the rest of the battle but for a vague sense of peripheral motion, Ramza met his opponent's eyes, narrowed green eyes, through a veil of colorless rainfall. In a blink he sized the fellow up: short but muscular, stubble-cheeked, a mane of reddish hair, feet spread solidly apart, one slightly ahead of the other. A power fighter, then. Strong but maybe not fast.

The nameless knight attacked next, a tight upward slice Ramza managed to deflect with his shield, though the impact jarred his shoulder. Before he could mount his own offensive the other man continued, driving him back into the whispering grass, circling around him. Though blood had already stained the upper half of his right arm, the Hokuten knight fought as though uninjured, with only a trace of tightness in his jaw to speak of any pain.

Ramza gritted his teeth, unable to find time to shift to the attack under the knight's savage onslaught. Blow after blow shocked his arm, numbed his elbow; slivers of wood flew from his shield and disappeared into the grass.

Then, abruptly, one of the man's slashes shattered through his shield and bit into the arm holding it. As the knight grunted in satisfaction, Ramza reacted instantly, twisting under the fellow's outstretched arm and spinning into a backhanded hack at the back of his exposed neck.

A warm metallic spray made him blink. The Hokuten knight dropped bonelessly to the ground.

Wiping blood from his face, Ramza ignored the bleeding wound on his forearm and glanced quickly about. The other guards had been dealt with -- Delita's fellow was sprawled unconscious on his back, while Rad's sat clutching his head and moaning -- and as he watched, Gafgarion unleashed one final Night Sword to drop Tensberger himself with a cry.

_That was quick._ Shaking his head, Ramza squatted next to the fallen knight and cleaned his blade on the man's cloak.

Footsteps whispered through grass behind him, and a sword slid into a scabbard. "What was that?" asked Gafgarion's rough voice. "I told you we were only killing Tensberger. Killing someone else too means our client got something for free."

Ramza froze with a fistful of wool against his sword's edge, turning only his head to regard the other man with narrowed eyes. _What did he want me to do? Keep the guy alive so he could keep hacking at me? I did what I did without thinking._

Gafgarion barked a laugh. "But you don't care at all, do you? Nothing but icewater in those veins of yours. I like that. Iceman." Chuckling again, he turned and wandered off. Rain continued hissing into the grass, into the mud of the road, mindless of the two dead men lying in puddles.

Scowling at nothing, Ramza continued his work, cleaning his sword and relieving the dead man of his shield; it would serve until he could buy a better one. In moments the corpse puffed into a beautiful crystal and he grabbed it, consumed it, sighing as someone else's hard-earned knowledge settled into his limbs and fingers.

With nothing but a bloody spot of flattened grass to suggest that a man had died here, he stood upright and adjusted the sword hanging from his waist. _I really don't care for this sort of work._

Before he could do much else, Delita shuffled over towards him, corked potion in hand. "Here," he murmured, holding the thing out. "For your arm." Dark eyes blinked neutrally, lacking their usual humor.

Ramza accepted the potion, then uncorked and drank it. Sour fumes assaulted his nostrils, clenched his throat, but the medicine knitted the wound back together, leaving only a slick of drying blood that the rain was already washing away. "What's with you?" he muttered with a nod at the other man.

Delita shrugged, glancing off to where Gafgarion was speaking with Rad a dozen paces away. "I don't know. He might have been right. It seems sort of wasteful to kill when you don't have to, you know?"

Jaw clenched, Ramza shouldered past his friend and strode to where the others were standing. Delita followed, but more slowly.

* * *

"Roses. I win." Rad chuckled, scooping a few coins from on top of the rock they'd dragged over to serve as a dicing surface.

Delita chuckled as well, poking through his coinpurse. He had plenty within -- well, plenty for this -- but it wasn't in him to gamble much. Not for mere entertainment, anyway.

Beside him, Ramza didn't chuckle, didn't smile, only stared at the rock as though in a trance. Though he'd been participating in the game, in life, his movements were mechanical and his manner empty.

Delita kept his smile for a moment after flickering his eyes from his friend back to his gil. Off to one side, the fire popped once, sending sparks braiding angrily through a thin column of smoke toward a silvery crescent moon. The night was a warm one, and wet; dew had already beaded on his armor and weapons. Hidden crickets provided a soothing treble drone from within a faint ground-mist all around.

"Another round, then?" prompted Rad hopefully, stretching where he sat. "Benedict, if you do well this time you could probably break even."

"Yeah," admitted Delita, pursing his lips in consideration; he didn't need to lose more money, but dicing was an enjoyable way to pass the time. "Sure. One more, and then I think I'll call it a night."

Rad grinned, long fingers toying with the dice on the rock. "Cool. Iceman?"

Ramza stirred without lifting his gaze. "Sure."

Ducking his head, Rad swiped the dice from the rock and, with an expert twist to his wrist, sent them tumbling once more. The roll proved to be a decent one, two bulls and a dagger. The squire whistled, then folded arms over his chest.

Delita frowned at the dice as he retrieved them. "Rad, where did you find dice like these, anyway? I've only seen ones with numbered pips before."

"Oh. Won them in Dorter." Rad's eyes followed their progress as Delita tossed them and Ramza grabbed them. "It was kind of funny, actually. There was this guy from Zeltennia who'd been winning all night, and he'd been drinking too, so I think he was a little fuzzed. Anyway, he made some smartass comment about his luck, so I..."

Delita found himself smiling as his companion related the story and then settled into another one. The round proceeded quickly, ten times around the rock; the dice could barely settle before the next man picked them up. This time, Ramza happened to win, though Delita suspected the night's overall winner was still Rad.

Afterwards, as the squire tucked his dice away, Delita stood and stretched. "Well, that was fun." Twenty paces away, Gafgarion, seated on another rock, turned and spared them all a disgusted glance before retuning his attention to watch.

"Don't worry," snickered Rad. "You can make up your losses tomorrow night."

"I'm sure." As he wandered back to the main body of the campsite, Delita eyed Ramza; the noble simply stood in place for a moment, then headed off into the distance, probably to empty his bladder. Soon he'd disappeared into the night, and Delita paused with one hand on the straps to his armor, eyes darting sideways to Rad, then over to Gafgarion.

An odd itch had been pestering him for some time now, growing with every passing week. Mercenary work, at least with Gafgarion, was solid and reliable... but it didn't do much. Anyone could hold a sword and swing it. Anyone could earn a fistful of gil and waste it on dice and liquor, and anyone could simply drift along through life doing nothing but reinforcing what already existed, the invisible gears and cogs rumbling along to keep a few on the top and everyone else on the bottom. Anyone could let that slide, content in his own position.

Not him, though.

The tragedy with Alma had set him thinking. She'd been, unarguably, an innocent. And yet the Death Corps hadn't hesitated to capture her, to use her as leverage, and the Hokuten hadn't hesitated in attacking to get her back, hadn't hesitated even knowing their attacks could endanger her life. It was like... like she was a game piece, not a person, and the Hokuten and Death Corps were just two players in the game, differing only in the colors of their pieces. Zalbag was just Wiegraf with a pedigree. Dycedarg and Larg were at least as bad, and maybe worse; while Zalbag had at least expressed concern in the few moments between Alma's death and his departure to battle Wiegraf, Dycedarg hadn't even acknowledged the incident at all, hadn't done anything to censure Zalbag, and Larg had let the whole thing quietly disappear to keep his hands clean.

Nobody cared. The men with their hands on the levers of power were so isolated from the consequences of their actions as to be nearly inhuman, more like golems or clockwork men than living and laughing people. _But not for long. I will be their consequences. I will laugh and cry and I will care._

And for that, he wanted Ramza's help. Working together, he suspected there would be much they could accomplish. But that meant asking him first, which meant a conversation away from the ears of Rad and Gafgarion. Which would have to be now.

Letting his hand drop from his armor, Delita waited a few moments longer to make sure he wouldn't be interrupting his friend, then set out after him, hoping to catch him on his way back to the camp. Dew-laden grass brushed against his legs with every step, and crickets fell silent at his passage.

Sure enough, he found Ramza quickly in the form of a man-shadow shuffling towards the camp. As they drew near, the fellow nodded and made as if to pass.

Delita stopped him with an outstretched hand. "Ramza, I need to talk to you."

His friend frowned back at him with neither surprise nor curiosity evident on his features. "About what?"

"About the future." Delita paused, choosing his words. "I think we should leave this whole thing and work on our own."

Ramza remained silent for a time before tilting his head. "Why?"

"Well, the people running everything are totally corrupt." He shrugged. "So I figured we'd team up and displace them all, and bring Ivalice things it hasn't seen in generations, like peace and justice."

Crickets continued to chirp nearby and farther away; above, a ghostly-thin cloud drifted in front of the moon. Eventually Ramza's mouth twisted. "No."

Delita blinked. "What? Why not?"

The other man shrugged tiredly. "What's the point?"

He spread his hands, baffled. "What do you mean? Do you really want people like Zalbag and Dycedarg in charge of everything?"

Ramza shook his head. "I don't care, Delita. We're just two guys; we're not going to change anything, so why even try?"

Delita chewed a lip and studied his friend carefully. It had been half a year since Fort Zeakden, and he'd long since come to the conclusion that Ramza wasn't simply grieving, but was actively broken in some fundamental way. If his soul had been a gem, Alma's fall would have cracked or shattered it. As such, Delita had hoped that a lofty goal of this magnitude would give him something to live for again, something to work towards and feel passion for. But if that wasn't the case... He shook his head, opened his mouth, then closed it again before finally speaking. "Ramza... we've been at this for six months now. I haven't seen Teta in three. Do you really want to be a common mercenary for the rest of your life?"

The noble shrugged again. "I don't really care. But I hate politics. I don't want to be involved."

"Forget politics," snapped Delita, shuffling a half-step forward. "I'm talking about hope. People _need_ hope. They need--"

"No, they don't," whispered Ramza. Shadows danced over his creasing brow. "Hope is poison. Illusion. They're better off without it."

Delita swallowed. "You can't really mean that."

"Yes, I do. I'm serious."

He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, touching his forehead, and drew a deep breath. "What happened to the Ramza I grew up with?"

The other man's face tightened. "I told you, Delita. He's dead."

Smothering a sudden scowl, Delita reached out to grip his friend's shoulder; dew on metal plates moistened his hand. "I need to do this," he explained quietly, staring into shadowed eyes, "and I'm going to do it with or without you. I want you to help because you're my friend and I trust you, but if you're too caught up in your problems to care, I'll go my own way for now." He paused, watching for some reaction in Ramza's eyes, some flicker of regret or any emotion at all, but found none. Something in him withered at this, at the fear that perhaps his friend was telling the truth about himself, but he simply nodded. "So be it. Someday, when you wise up, come find me again. Until then... try not to die, will you?"

"Sure." Ramza's voice was a flat whisper.

Releasing the man's shoulder, Delita shook his head. "Good. See you around, then." Without another word, he strode past Ramza and didn't look back. From here, he could get to Dorter before the inns closed.

* * *

Long after Delita had disappeared into the mist, Ramza stared after him. That had been... a mistake, perhaps. He hadn't been lying about what he wanted, about what mattered to him, but in retrospect it might have made more sense to accompany Delita, even on a foolish dream-quest, than to stay with Rad and Gafgarion. Alma wouldn't have wanted him to be alone... but then, Alma and her optimism were dead. Dead as last year's flowers.

Closing his eyes, he took a long, ragged breath, then exhaled forcefully before heading back to the camp. Dew clung to his legs, seeping through cracks in the armor to chill his skin.

Once he reached the others, Rad spared him little more than an absent glance before returning to arranging his own bedding. Ramza found his own supplies but paused with the sleeproll in his hands; Delita's things were still here, still lying where he'd dropped them near Ramza's own two hours earlier. _Is... is he coming back for them, or what? I suppose he wouldn't._

Some time later, after he'd doffed his armor and spread an oiled cloth on the ground to keep the sleeproll dry, Gafgarion turned from his seat to stare at him. "Iceman, where's Benedict?"

Ramza paused, feeling a scowl steal across his face. How to explain it? That his fractured heart had driven his only friend away? After a moment Rad glanced up from his own things to frown in his direction as well.

When he didn't answer, Gafgarion snorted. "Buggered off on us, did he? Or maybe you killed him out there? Hid his body in the grass somewhere?"

It took some effort to clear his face. _No, I'm not like you. And you shouldn't joke about things like that._ Part of him supposed he should answer his commander's questions, but the effort to speak aloud just seemed too great.

"Well, we'll give him some time," decided Gafgarion, stretching. "If he really is gone, I'm docking ten percent of your pay, since it's probably your fault. Right?"

Ramza shrugged and went back to preparing his bedding. After a moment Gafgarion grunted and seemed to lose interest in the conversation, returning to his watch duties.

_That's it? Ten percent of my gil and a backhanded accusation? Delita's gone._ Something wasn't right about this whole setup. He'd felt it from the very beginning, had thought Gafgarion seemed a little shady, had a little too much interest in him, and this just confirmed it. Any normal mercenary captain should be visibly angry, probably furious, at having one subordinate out of three desert, but here Gafgarion had shrugged it off as only of mild concern. _He's here for me. For Ramza Beoulve. I bet he's known who I am all along. Who's he watching me for, then? My brothers, of course; who else? Delita was probably just a bonus, and I'm the real target._

He shook his head. He was tempted to leave as well, to ditch this job and disappear somewhere, maybe get a job as a farmhand... but what would be the point? His brothers would just send someone else to keep an eye on him, if they didn't lose patience altogether and have him killed for the sake of convenience. _Not like they value human life a lot, is it?  
_  
"Hey," called Rad in a low voice, eyeing Gafgarion's shadowed figure but shuffling over to speak quietly with Ramza. "Is he really gone? What happened?"

Ramza shrugged again and climbed into his bedding. It was difficult to speculate on what was going on in his friend's head; Delita had always had his own ideas about things. _He probably is gone, though. I wonder if I'll ever see him again._

Eventually Rad shifted and cleared his throat. "Um..." Hesitating briefly, he rolled bony shoulders and wandered back towards his own things, muttering.

Ramza ignored him, instead letting himself drift off to sleep. Sleep was easy to find, easy to enjoy. The peaceful oblivion it provided was what he supposed the grave would feel like.

Delita didn't return during the night. Nor during the next day, nor the day after that.

Somehow days became weeks. Weeks became months. No sign of, or word from, Delita. Ramza wondered occasionally if he was still alive.

Gafgarion never ran out of jobs; he was good enough to stay in demand. Most seemed to be protection runs, guarding a caravan from Igros to Dorter, acting as muscle for nobles who wanted to impress or intimidate their peers. Often weeks went by without any fighting at all, nothing more than traveling, keeping his equipment up, getting rained on, sleeping on the ground under stars that remained as untouchable in their silent beauty as hope itself.

Ramza did everything that was asked of him and spoke only when necessary. His eighteenth birthday came and went, and he wondered without much concern if he'd ever see nineteen. He still didn't care for mercenary work but didn't leave, mostly because it seemed like too much work.

Eventually Rad stopped trying to engage him in small talk. Neither he nor Gafgarion stopped calling him Iceman, though.

* * *

Agrias Oaks lounged cross-armed against the outer doorway of Orbonne Monastery, trying not to sigh. Morning sunlight angled through rustling ash leaves, making her squint, and somewhere among the nearby vegetation an insect's shrill buzzing competed with the gentle sigh of the breeze. Here in the doorway, the air from outside mixed from that from the interior, creating an odd mix of scents, spicy green weeds and rotting leaves mingling with age and cool dust and wood polish.

_Where are they?_ Her liaison among the Hokuten had promised competent men. Prompt men. Prompt men who were supposed to have arrived at dawn, more than half an hour ago now.

Lips twisted in vexation, she glanced back, across the entryway towards the doors to the chapel proper, but they were still closed. So the mercenaries were late, but Ovelia was too. _I guess we're even, then._

"What's the rush?" chuckled a man's voice from the other side of the doorway. "Even the Princess isn't ready."

Agrias frowned over at Linus, the monastery guard captain, but he only smiled back at her. "We have a full day of travel ahead," she explained. "I don't want to get to Dorter and find that everything's already closed."

Linus merely shrugged at this. Amber sunlight slanted across his torso, illuminating him from the chest down and leaving his face in the shade. "Yeah, but what are you gonna do? Break in there and tell her she's done praying?"

"Why not?" Agrias smiled. "If she takes too long, yes. She knows we need to leave, and won't mind the intrusion."

"True enough," admitted the knight with a dip of his head. "She never really..." He trailed off, cutting his eyes northward, out towards the trees.

Agrias followed his gaze, one hand reaching for her sword hilt as the breeze carried a snatch of voice in her direction from outside. A moment later a black-armored fellow stepped into view around a bend in the path, followed shortly by two other men. Nodding, she released her blade. _Finally._

"It seems they're here," murmured Linus.

She snorted but didn't respond to such an obvious observation. Without moving she watched the mercenaries approach, watched their body language, watched their eyes darting around to search the trees for hidden enemies. Though all three carried their weapons with the familiarity borne of use, the sword looked most natural on the commander and most fitting on the shorter of his two men. _I don't like their kind, but they'll do._

Once they were within speaking range, she strode out to meet them. Her boots whispered across the grey surface of the stone approach, which also served as the roof of the underground library, and the sound kept time to the clinking of her armor. "Who are you?"

The commander drew up a few paces away, addressing her with a sort of strutting smugness that was already grating on her nerves. "We're the guards you needed. Captain Sullivan, in Igros, sent us."

Agrias nodded, keeping her face neutral. "The Princess is just about ready. I'm Agrias Oaks of St. Konoe. What are all of your names?"

As their leader launched into the introductions, she paid attention with only half an ear, instead studying the men as their names settled somewhere into her mind. _Gaff Gafgarion. _The commander himself was an older man, a hardened veteran with piercing blue eyes completely free of respect or conscience. _Rad Chamberlain._ A tall young fellow, sword as long as his legs; he seemed uncomfortable in the presence of a Holy Knight. _Ramza Ruglia._ A hollow-eyed killer who stared through her rather than at her.

When Gafgarion was done, she nodded once and turned her back on the men, but not without keeping her ears alert; she didn't trust any of them farther than she could throw them. "Come with me. We'll leave shortly."

* * *

Ramza followed a muttering Rad into the monastery, aware of a second knight at the doorway watching them without expression. Once into the sparsely-decorated entry chamber he paused with the others, glancing around without interest and spotting another pair of knights, both women, studying him in return. The Holy Knight herself simply positioned herself in front of a pair of double doors, arms crossed, face cool.

"...know you said a VIP," Rad was sighing, "but I didn't know you meant _her._ My God." His hands clenched and relaxed in an endless nervous cycle. "I mean, it's not like I've..."

"Shut it," grunted Gafgarion quietly; his careful eyes studied the monastery's knights as he spoke. "Don't sweat it, since she has no authority over you, but don't be a dunce either. Best just to keep your mouth shut."

"Mouth shut," nodded Rad, licking his lips. "Yeah." His words echoed faintly on the hard angles of the room.

Ramza ignored the other men, instead lowering his gaze to the floor. _Working for the Hokuten again. I was right about Gafgarion._ Rather than dwell on it, he simply waited.

And waited.

And waited a little more.

When his muscles were beginning to protest from standing still in armor for so long, Oaks gave a frustrated little sigh, then spun and pushed her way through the doors and into what looked like a plush little chapel. Her voice drifted back out as she spoke with whomever was in there.

A moment later, Gafgarion grunted. "Whatever. I'm tired of waiting; come with me." Ignoring the scowls from the other knights present, he strode after Oaks and into the chapel.

Ramza followed with Rad. Once within, soft blood-colored carpet swallowed the sounds of his footsteps, and he found himself frowning at it. _Carpet. How long has it been since I've seen any?_

"What's going on?" demanded Gafgarion as he slowed to a halt. "It's been almost an hour!"

Oaks half-turned to give him a withering look. "Don't be rude to the Princess, Gafgarion."

_The Princess? That's her?_ Lips thinned, Ramza went politely to one knee, gesturing for Rad to do the same.

Ahead, Gafgarion merely offered a deep nod, about as much respect as he could give anyone. "We're in a hurry, Agrias."

The Holy Knight's features cooled even further, one golden eyebrow lifting. "So there are mannerless oafs even among the Hokuten?"

Gafgarion stiffened, snapping back some retort about not being Hokuten at all, but Ramza ignored their bickering and instead glanced up at the Princess. And then he froze.

She was standing in the sunlight, her back to him. For a blink his heart stopped as new images dragged old ones up from the depths of his mind to assault him. Golden hair. White dress, red embroidery, hands folded in front of her. Same size. Same... _no._

Drawing a shuddering breath as his heart pounded back into motion, he tore his gaze away and stared wide-eyed at the floor. _No. She's dead. This is Ovelia._ Blood roared in his ears; breath rasped in his lungs.

Before long, Ovelia' voice cut through his discomfiture. "Enough. Let's go." A quiet voice, almost timid despite her words.

Frowning, Ramza climbed to his feet and exchanged a glance with Rad. His mouth had gone dry, making it hard to swallow.

In the silence Ovelia glided across to an aged priest, then clasped his hands, dry old-person hands. The princess bit her lips, perhaps uncertain what to say.

The priest offered a sunny smile. "Go with God."

"You too, Simon." Ovelia's answering smile was stiff, a little unsteady, a mask against tears.

Before Ramza could do more than wonder, running footsteps behind him turned his head around, just in time to see a female knight stumble to one knee. The priest, Simon, uttered a low gasp, then hurried to the knight's side.

The woman ignored him, though. Under a smear of blood on her right temple, her face was pale. "Agrias! There's... enemies!"

Simon frowned in clear worry. "Prince Goltana's men?" With a bitten oath, Oaks hurried out of the chapel, out of the monastery altogether.

Gafgarion sighed at the ceiling. "What one has to do to make money. Let's go." With a shake of his head he turned and headed out into the sunlight. Into the battle.

Ramza followed quickly at his side, to where Agrias and two other knights were facing off against a handful of Nanten with drawn weapons. Already a few defenders were dead, though whether they were the monastery's people or the Holy Knight's, he didn't know.

"What idiots," growled Gafgarion once he was outside. "Only fools attack head-on."

As he was speaking, Oaks glanced at him before returning her attention to the Nanten. "Leave this to us," she hissed.

Gafgarion chuckled. "We can't make money that way. Rad, Ramza, kill them all!"

"What?" snapped the Holy Knight. "Nonsense! There's no reason to..."

Ramza ignored her, bolting forward to hack at an enemy chemist. Chemists were the most dangerous in the long run. His first slash scored the man badly across the chest, and in response the fellow turned to run, fumbling in the pouch at his waist, likely for a potion. Ramza followed, quickly gaining ground; he was faster, or else the wounded chemist was just distracted from the injury and doing two things at once.

With a cry of victory, the Nanten man found a potion and drank it. It didn't help him much, though, because Ramza hacked him down from behind immediately afterwards.

Letting the corpse topple to the ground, he paused to survey the battle. Rad was hurt, holding a wound in his side as he waited near the back, while Oaks and her women were busy mowing down the hapless Nanten attackers. Gafgarion stood a short distance behind the women, apparently deciding which enemy to kill next, or perhaps wondering if it was worth the effort.

With a frown, Ramza straightened and relaxed. He'd expected Nanten to be more formidable.

After cleaning weapons and healing the wounded, he found himself following Gafgarion back into the monastery. The Dark Knight and Oaks took the lead, muttering and bickering, while Ramza drifted to the rear with Rad. Two of the Holy Knight's women accompanied them, one sporting a bloodstain on her left calf.

Once into the chapel, Oaks strode straight to Ovelia, concern written across her marble features. "Princess, are you alright? I should have stayed in here, with you."

Ovelia smiled at the other woman. "I'm fine, Agrias. What about everyone else?"

"Some injuries, but nothing serious." Oaks paused for a moment, sapphire eyes darting towards Ramza and the others who'd been in the fight, but then she nodded. "If you're ready, we can go."

Ovelia glanced towards Simon but simply nodded when the priest said nothing. "I'm ready."

In moments the princess was mounted on a chocobo the monastery had provided, with her few belongings tucked into saddlebags. After another round of farewells between her and Simon, Oaks jerked her head in a silent command to leave and they did so. Ramza followed with Rad in the back.

"Hey," murmured the other man, licking his lips as they advanced along the leaf-strewn forest road. "Did he tell you where we were going?"

Ramza shook his head. Gafgarion wasn't big on telling people such trifling things as where they might be heading next. Sunlight filtered through countless splaying leaves above, dappling the ground with shadow, dancing in his eyes and half-blinding him as he walked.

Rad sighed but nodded. "I suppose. He seems pissed-off about something, though. Any idea why?"

"Hmm?" Blinking, Ramza glanced up at his companion, then forward to where Gafgarion was walking beside Oaks. Or, rather, stalking beside Oaks. Though the man's back was to him, his movements were a little too brisk, a little too abrupt. _Huh. He does look angry. But then, when he's angry at us he usually just yells. He doesn't stew._

Eventually Ramza shook his head. "No idea."

Before Rad could answer, Oaks spun in place, then held up both hands. "Everyone, stop. We need to talk."

As everyone slowed to an obedient halt and Ovelia's chocobo pawed at the dirt, the Holy Knight continued. "Goltana is obviously trying to capture the Princess before she can get to Lesalia, so it might be in our best interests to change the route we take to get there, to evade any forces he might have lying in wait for us."

Gafgarion snorted at this. "So you'd muck around in the countryside even longer, when Lesalia's probably the safest place she could possibly be?"

_Safest?_ Ramza concealed a frown. _With supporters of Orinas around, I wouldn't call it safe there._ Ovelia herself followed the conversation without speaking, mild brown eyes flickering from person to person.

"Perhaps," allowed Oaks neutrally. "But with the feud between Larg and Goltana heating up, that might not be true anymore. We can't afford to take any needless risks, and running into trained assassins, compared to a few extra brigands on a more roundabout route, would be a needless risk."

Gafgarion shrugged, though his eyebrows drew together in frustration. "Why not just go to Igros? It's closer, and Larg's been managing her affairs up until now. He should be trustworthy, if you want to wait out the struggle or maybe pick up a few extra arms."

Oaks paused, face cold, eyeing the man. A playful breeze tugged a few strands of golden hair loose from her braid.

_She doesn't trust him either._ Ramza's frown won out over his attempts to control it. _Why is he saying Larg should be safe? He doesn't trust anybody, not even Rad and me. Something is up and Oaks is figuring it out._

Eventually, however, the Holy Knight shrugged. "Maybe. Let's just get to Dorter and figure it out there. Time is wasting." Without waiting for an answer she spun in place, face carefully neutral, and resumed striding along the road.

As everyone shuffled back into motion, Ramza followed suit. Ahead, Ovelia's hair bobbed with every step the chocobo took. Throughout the whole conversation, no one had thought to ask her her own opinion about where she should go, and she hadn't volunteered it. _Just what kind of princess is she, anyway?_ His frown deepened into a scowl for a moment before he managed to clear it.

The rest of the day's travel elapsed in a tense silence. If neither Oaks nor Gafgarion was going to speak up, he certainly wasn't about to either.

With the late start, not to mention the fight back at the monastery, Oaks actually called a halt a good two hours short of Dorter, though she simmered with visible frustration at having to do so. In clipped tones she called for the two knights, Alicia and Lavian, to make minimal camp some twenty paces off the road while she herself tended to Ovelia after a day of travel.

Ignoring the women, Ramza set out to hunt for dry fallen branches among the woods, at least until a growled "No fire!" from Gafgarion drew him back. Then, with nothing else to do, he dropped to his backside in a clear spot of ground and pulled a handful of travel rations from his belt pouch. To the west, nothing remained of the sun through the trees save for a brilliant orange glow, leaving the rest of the sky in violet star-dusted majesty.

Rad collapsed to sit beside him, muttering about tired legs, and after a moment one of the knights -- Lavian, he thought -- did the same, forming a triangle of sorts. She looked to be about his own age, and slim, though in her armor it was difficult to tell. Hooded blue eyes stared confidently out of a pretty face, though one with perhaps a too-wide mouth, and feathery black hair hanging almost to her jaw softened her look somewhat.

When no one said anything, her slight smile widened. "So, Rad and Ramza, huh? What's your guys' stories? You brothers or what?" Her voice was low, almost musical.

Ramza blinked, then shifted his gaze to Rad, who just shrugged back at him. The other man stood a head taller, at least, and had a beak of a nose besides. _We look nothing alike._ A short distance away, he spotted Oaks pausing in the act of tending to the chocobo to watch their conversation.

"No," answered the squire, summoning a smile. "I've only known him a little less than a year, anyway. I grew up in Gariland and fell in with Gafgarion when I was fifteen. I learned most of what I know from him."

"Ah," breathed Lavian, nodding; soft hair swayed with the motion. "What about you, then, Ramza?"

He paused in mid-chew with a mouthful of dried fruit, considering the question. Then he shrugged and resumed his meal. _What's to tell? She doesn't want to hear about Alma. That's not something you drop into a conversation with someone you've just met._

A set of footsteps approaching through the underbrush turned into Gafgarion, and he cackled a laugh. "Don't even try to get answers out of Iceman. He'd as soon kill you as talk to you." With another laugh, he continued without stopping towards his sleeproll on the other side of the camp.

Ramza stared after the other man with what he supposed was a glare. _What does he want me to do? And anyway, why doesn't he make fun of Rad too?_

"Oooookay," breathed Lavian, almost muttering, as her eyes slid uncomfortably away. "Never mind, then." Planting hands on her knees, she stood in one fluid motion and made her way towards where the other knight, Alicia, was leaning against a tree and scowling at everything in general.

Shaking his head, Ramza drew the strings on his belt pouch, closing it for the evening. He'd never been smooth with girls, but at least he'd never driven them to leave his presence through sheer discomfort before.

Once Rad wandered off to arrange his bedding, Ramza drew the sword from his waist and rummaged around his person for a whetstone. Before he could slide it more than once along the blade's edge, however, plate-armored legs stepped into his vision. Blinking, he glanced up to find Oaks staring down at him, eyes nothing but shadows in the twilight dimness.

After a moment she nodded towards Gafgarion but squatted on her heels beside Ramza and addressed him quietly. "I've seen that look before. You hate him, don't you? You've been with him for a year and you hate him." With her head turned to one side, she seemed a little cautious, a little thoughtful, but her face was unreadable.

He shook his head. _Gafgarion's an ass but he doesn't go out of his way to hurt people._

The Holy Knight grunted, tugging reinforced gloves from pale hands. "Why do you stay with him? Couldn't you find work with somebody whose company you could at least tolerate?"

Ramza shook his head again, unwilling to answer, barely willing to think about it at all. Beyond Oaks, he could see another female form along the edge of the tree-shadows, watching him. Scowling at him, still; in the dimness he couldn't see her face well, but he could make out her body language well enough. Alicia, then. She was short, rising perhaps to his shoulder, and seemed to carry something of an attitude because of it, or at least she'd been wearing a half-challenging glare all day as though waiting for an excuse to pick a fight with someone. Her hair, curly and red and pulled into a messy tail, had served to make her look almost endearing rather than intimidating.

As the silence stretched, Oaks grunted again. "Won't answer me either, huh? Well, fair enough. Just figured I'd ask."

Before she could rise and leave, he nodded a question past her. "What's with Alicia?"

A corner of the Holy Knight's lips quirked as she gazed off at her companion. "She has something of a short temper. And she saw your conversation with Lavian earlier, so she thinks you're a jerk."

When he didn't answer, Oaks straightened, then headed off to speak with the Princess in a subdued voice. Ramza frowned after her for a moment, then resumed tending to his blade.

Just as he was finishing, Gafgarion's rough voice snapped through the camp. "Rad! Ramza! Come here!"

Without expression Ramza slid his blade into its scabbard, then climbed to his feet and stepped through the moonlit twilight to where his boss stood half-concealed among the trees. Rad appeared a blink later, half-stooping to brush dead leaves from his legs.

Gafgarion didn't speak right away, didn't step out of the shadows, only leaned slightly to one side as though to peer around Rad and at where the women were conversing. Eventually he nodded once. "Here's the plan," he began in a low voice, "and don't freak out when I tell you, Rad. We're getting paid to bring Ovelia to Igros Castle whether she wants to go there or not. Or, failing that, to kill her. Got it?"

_Kill her? Kill Ovelia?_ Ramza swallowed, clenching his teeth and doing his best not to draw his sword and attack his commander on the spot. _No way. There's no way I'll let you do that._

Rad issued a choked grunt but managed to nod, if stiffly. "Wha--?" Pausing, he cleared his throat and tried again. "How... how are we doing it?"

Gafgarion shrugged. "I wanted to attack while they slept, but us going to 'sleep' in our armor would be something of a giveaway, so we're just going to attack right now. None of you are still wounded after the last fight, are you?"

Rad shook his head firmly. After a moment Ramza did likewise, gripping the hilt of his weapon.

"Good." Gafgarion thumbed his chin in consideration. "Go after Agrias first; she's easily the most dangerous. And don't cluster together, either, or she'll tear you to pieces. Got it? I'll attack first and you two follow my lead."

Rad wiped hands on his hips. "Got it."

Ramza nodded, feeling oddly calm. They didn't know. Didn't know they were going to fail.

"Okay, good." Gafgarion rubbed his hands briskly together. "Split apart now, and I'll call something to you like I'm finishing the conversation. Then I'll attack and we take them down. Go."

Ramza turned in place and started walking towards his things. Despite his thundering heart, something in him felt... relaxed. The three knights were still together, he saw, still speaking; he could hear every creak of their armor as they shifted, every low murmur of Oaks' voice as she explained something to the other women. It wasn't often he got the chance to know in advance when a battle was going to take place, especially against people he'd been speaking to just moments before, so a tingling of anticipation had bubbled up somewhere in his middle.

"Oh," added Gafgarion, speaking just loudly enough for his voice to carry across the campsite, "I'll take first watch. Then Rad, then Ramza. Stay alert for once, guys."

Oaks finished speaking; the knights nodded. They were ignoring everyone else, yet. Gafgarion took a step forward.

Ramza continued on, eyes down, keeping alert through his peripheral vision. Two paces away, Rad was already sweating.

"Master of all swords, cut energy! Night Sword!"

As one the women dove apart, rolling to their feet some distance away; they'd been expecting it, then. The attack sliced through Oaks nevertheless, tearing out of the ground under her feet. Ovelia gasped and froze, wide-eyed, as shadowy red light flickered across the campsite.

Ramza drew his sword but hesitated, considering who to attack. Gafgarion? Or try to get Ovelia to safety? Or would that just alarm the other knights and draw their attacks to--

"Ramza!" hissed Rad. He stood just a short distance away, blade drawn and ready, eyes narrowed. "Come on! We'll worry about it later, but we're gonna die if we wait! Come on!"

_No time. No time to explain it._ Ramza nodded, stepping towards his companion.

Rad nodded as well, clearly relieved, then turned to join the battle.

Ramza lunged, sliding his sword into Rad's back, up through his ribs. The other man froze, then started struggling, but Ramza wasted no time in throwing him to the ground. Despite Rad's attempts to rise, he planted a boot against the man's back and slid six inches of cold steel into the back of his neck.

Rad jerked once, then went still.

Wasting no time, Ramza jerked his sword from the body, then glanced up to study the fight. Oaks was facing off against Gafgarion, he saw, with Alicia hacking at the Dark Knight as well, while Lavian had fallen back to protect Ovelia from... from him, he supposed. The woman met his gaze soberly from ten paces away, sword drawn, but made no move to attack him. Ovelia simply watched the fight between the Dark and Holy Knights with a sort of horrified raptness.

"Ramza, you _dumbass!_" snarled Gafgarion as he fended off a slash from an enraged Alicia. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

Rather than answer, Ramza stepped over the corpse of Rad, towards his commander. Former commander. Blade still drawn, he jogged to where Gafgarion and Alicia were circling, then found an opening and hacked at him, only to see his strike rebound off the man's shield. "Alicia, keep on him. If you give him space he can attack you better."

"I know," growled the diminutive redhead. "I've noticed."

As she spoke, one of the Holy Knight's attacks flared into Gafgarion, dropping him to one knee, and he cursed loudly. "Ramza, you fool! The next time I see you, you're a dead man!" Leaping to his feet, he pointed a bloody sword at Ramza, then turned and bolted into the night. Alicia followed instantly, teeth bared in a snarl, but a curt command from Oaks brought her to a skidding halt.

Ignoring the women, Ramza turned in place and frowned at Rad's body. After a moment he shuffled over towards it but then stopped a few paces away, wondering what he was supposed to do. The man -- boy? -- still lay facedown in a pool of his own blood, arms curled under his chest from his failed attempts to push himself up. In the deepening twilight, the blood looked dark, glittering wetly like ink.

Soft footsteps sounded behind him and Oaks cleared her throat. "Ramza? Would you mind... explaining some things for us?"

Lips thinning, he turned to face her. What he could see of her expression was guarded and she stood with arms folded over her armored chest. Alicia stood glowering at her side, while Lavian was still behind her, still defending a frightened Ovelia, and hadn't yet put away her sword. "Explain what?"

Oaks' face clouded momentarily before she cleared it. "You fought your commander. You killed your companion. Why?"

"I..." He paused, uncertain how to word it, but the woman simply waited. "I wanted... to help." The words popped out from somewhere. "Ovelia's not... people shouldn't..." Sighing, he shook his head and fell silent.

The Holy Knight nodded once, golden braid swaying. "What are you going to do now?"

_That's a good question._ He blinked at the ground for a moment before glancing up at Oaks, but she was only watching him in return, one eyebrow raised. "I... I don't..." He frowned. "I guess I figured I'd keep accompanying you. That's what you were paying Gafgarion for, right?"

Her expression didn't change at all. "Are you doing this for the pay?"

"No." Silence stretched as he fumbled for a way to explain what he meant, but eventually he just gave his head another shake. "No. Don't care about the money."

"I see." Unfolding her arms, the Holy Knight fingered the hilt of her sheathed blade for a moment, studying him with unreadable eyes. "Why should I let you come along?"

He shrugged. "I'm useful."

"You're untrustworthy."

_Because I attacked my old group. Right._ "I'm... no, I'm not going to do that to you guys."

Oaks snorted. "Why not?"

"You shouldn't..." He paused, swallowing, and squeezed his eyes shut. "You shouldn't just... what he did, that was wrong. I wanted to help."

A long moment passed before the Holy Knight spoke again. "Ramza... if that was your intent, you've already helped. You don't need to come along with us." Her voice was lower now, a little softer.

He blinked his eyes back open, then pointed in the direction Gafgarion had run off. "We won't have any problems," he vowed, "if you're not like him. You can trust me if I can trust you. And you still need muscle, or you wouldn't have hired mercenaries in the first place."

Oaks blinked at this, then met his gaze for a long moment. Finally she chuckled. "I suppose. But Ramza... don't do anything foolish."

He shrugged. Foolish varied, depending on who was doing the judging.

Apparently satisfied that he'd agreed, the woman made a sour face, then turned and made her way to the wide-eyed Ovelia. Alicia stayed in place, however, even shuffled a few paces closer and peered up at him with a peculiar expression.

Ramza waited, then frowned at the knight. "What are you--?"

He was on hands and knees, touching his bloody nose with a shaking hand, before it occurred to him that she'd punched him. Letting his hand drop, he turned only his head to stare blankly up at Alicia.

She stood with hands on hips, feet planted far apart, glaring. "Oh, get up," she snapped. "Fight me like a man. What the hell's your problem, anyway?"

"Me?" _She's insane, isn't she?_ "I was going to ask you that."

Her lips peeled back in disgust. "My problem? My problem is that I don't care what you and Rad disagreed about, or what the situation was, but you don't _ever_ stab a comrade in the back, not for any reason, _ever._ Do you understand?"

_She's right._ Once again, blood had soaked his forearms, left his hands turning sticky in the thin moonlight. _That keeps happening to me. Maybe that's just... who I am, now. She's right. Gafgarion was right, too._

"Oh, for... get up, Ramza." Alicia's voice was thick with scorn. "If you're not going to defend yourself, I'm--"

"Alicia." Oaks' hard voice interrupted the younger woman's muttering. "Let's calm down, shall we?"

The redhead paused for a moment, then let out a tight sigh. Spinning on her heel, she strode off across the campsite to the others.

Shortly Oaks took her place. "Ramza, I'm going to use your friend's crystal. Do you have any objections?"

He blinked, looking up from his open hands, then glanced over at Rad's body. As she'd claimed, he was now nothing but a faintly-luminous crystal rotating slowly in place. "Oh. No." The Holy Knight was the only one with wounds from the fight; she would need it.

"Okay." Crouching down beside him in a soft jangle of metal, she touched the crystal with an ungloved hand and it puffed instantly to smoke. Agrias closed her eyes and slumped in visible relaxation.

Ramza watched her for a moment, then stared back at his hands. _At least blood washes off. I'll be clean in a few minutes._

"Don't get too comfortable," she murmured beside him. "We'll have to move the camp for tonight, now that Gafgarion knows where we are."

_Move the camp._ "Yes. That's... yeah." Shaking his head, Ramza climbed to his feet and glanced around. Again, there was no sign of struggle, nothing to say that anyone had died here, save for a reddish region of crushed undergrowth where Rad had been, and even that would wash away the next time it rained. The others were watching him, he noticed belatedly, even Oaks and Ovelia, all just staring at him in silence. He stared back, blinking.

Oaks shifted her gaze to Lavian and Alicia, then shook her head. "Get your stuff, everyone. Let's go."


	3. Dry Eyes, Wet Metal

_A/N: Oof. Long chapter._

* * *

_I know you become such a coward that you'll grab at any lousy excuse to get out of killing your pipe dreams. And yet, as I've told you over and over, it's exactly those damned tomorrow dreams which keep you from making peace with yourself. So you've got to kill them like I did.  
-- _Eugene O'Neill, "The Iceman Cometh"

Chapter Three: Dry Eyes, Wet Metal

It took less than an hour to pick up the camp, move it a short distance down the road, and set it all up again. With only a handful of people, most traveling lightly, there was little gear to worry about. Most, in fact, seemed to be Ovelia's, though even she couldn't claim much in the way of belongings. It seemed being a princess did not automatically imply tangible wealth.

After settling back down, Ramza found a half-rotten tree stump and simply sat on it. Sat and watched the others. Oaks was tending to the chocobo once more, unbuckling saddle and reins, while Lavian attempted to chat with a still-nervous Ovelia. Alicia stood off to one side, shaking out bedrolls and blankets. None of them so much as glanced in his direction; instead, they went about their tasks, about the business of living, while he stared on like a ghost from the shadows.

It was nearly a half-hour later before Oaks frowned around the campsite, then spotted him at its edge. It was difficult to be certain, but in the moonlight he thought she rolled her eyes as she trotted over to meet him.

"Ramza," she greeted with a nod. "We're going to split up watches for the night. You want one?"

He shrugged, then nodded back. _No need for everyone else to lose more sleep for my benefit._

The shadows of her face clouded in apparent thought. "Okay. Do you care when? Are you tired now?"

He shook his head in answer to both questions.

"Okay, then you're first watch. Wake Lavian up in two and a half hours or so." Meeting his gaze a moment longer, she spun and marched off towards the others.

A sudden thought occurred to him. "Oaks."

She paused four paces away but didn't turn around. "Agrias."

"What?"

"You can call me Agrias."

He hesitated, waiting for more, then glanced off to the shadow-cloaked trees surrounding their site. "How did you know Gafgarion was going to attack? Rad and I didn't even know until he told us right beforehand."

The Holy Knight turned in place, shooting him a sideways frown. "He was just suspicious from the beginning. Then he was trying to convince me to go to Igros, but even though Larg has been responsible for Ovelia all this time, it's not like he has much reason to want her alive now. Then when you guys were all talking by yourselves you were obviously very alarmed about something, so I told the girls to expect something." She stared inward for a moment, then shrugged.

He nodded, avoiding the urge to touch his throbbing nose. At least the bleeding had stopped.

"Oh, and that reminds me," added Oaks. Agrias. "Come on. We all need to talk and figure some things out." Waving a hand in vague beckoning, she resumed her way towards the center of the campsite.

Ramza rose slowly from his stump, then followed, shuffling to where the three other women were sitting in a halfhearted circle. Agrias seated herself in the dirt between Ovelia and Lavian, while Ramza squeezed in between the two younger knights, ignoring an angry stare from Alicia.

"So," began Agrias, tucking a strand of golden hair back behind her ear; it lay flat against her head, for the most part, a consequence of being stuffed into a helmet all day. "We need to change our plans. Gafgarion was hired by the Hokuten, and the Hokuten ultimately answer to Larg, so Larg is an enemy now. He's also likely to have people in Lesalia to see to Princess Ovelia if Gafgarion failed, so we can't go there."

Ramza thinned his lips as she spoke. _Larg, an enemy._ That meant Dycedarg would be as well; his brother had always said Larg couldn't lace his boots without a Beoulve to find them for him first. _And if Dycedarg, Zalbag._ Strange to think of his brothers not as people whom he hated by himself, but who were also legitimate enemies of some broader group of people. People who didn't include Nanten, at any rate. Or the Death Corps. Or angry commoners.

"So... any ideas?" Agrias glanced from face to face around the circle. "Ramza, you know Gafgarion. Is he likely to follow us, or will he head back to Igros to report and get new orders?"

"He'll follow us. Or try to beat us to wherever we're going." That much seemed certain; Gafgarion wasn't a man to abandon his mission at the first sign of difficulty. He'd simply expect to finish things with nothing but his bare hands and gruff machismo, if the need arose. "We're safe for a while, though; he won't attack us one-on-four, even during the night, but he'll try to get more muscle soon and take us again then. And he'll know we can't go to Lesalia, or anywhere else in Hokuten territory."

"Or Nanten territory," added Lavian wryly. "I'm sure Goltana would be all to happy to grab the Princess and bring her somewhere 'safe.'"

"True," sighed Agrias. Alicia grunted, examining her fingernails.

Ramza found himself watching Ovelia as the others spoke. _Once again, they're all talking about her like she's not even here. And she doesn't seem to mind._ That struck him as hugely amiss; as the heir to the throne, Ovelia should have opinions, should expect people to obey her, not the other way around. And yet there she was, kneeling demurely, hands folded in her lap as she watched the conversation unfold.

Under his scrutiny, her dark eyes slid towards his own, but quickly jerked away. Pale hands twitched, perhaps tempted to wring, but she stilled them after a blink.

He sighed. Doubtless the blood on his face, and soaking his clothes, wasn't making him a comforting sight to a girl who'd grown up in a monastery. "Princess Ovelia," he began, bowing his head, keeping his voice as humble as he could make it these days, "where would you like to go?"

"Oh!" She blinked, then stared at him, dark eyes wide. All the women were staring at him, in fact, as though he'd done something surprising. "I, um...." Ovelia trailed off, half-glancing towards Agrias, but then she donned a nervous smile. "I'm... not really sure, actually. I think I'll just go with what all of you decide."

Ramza nodded, hoping his face could mask the cold sinking of his stomach. _Pathetic. Alma would have been decisive even if wrong. I should have known better than to get my hopes up. They'll only get crushed anyway._ After a moment he lowered his gaze to his lap.

"I was thinking Lionel," admitted Agrias after a moment. "The Church has jurisdiction there, and Cardinal Draclau is a war hero. He might be able to shelter us until this thing between Larg and Goltana settles."

Silence stretched briefly until Lavian spoke. "That might work. Both the Hokuten and Nanten have to step lightly there."

"Exactly. Let's do that, then." As she spoke, Agrias hugged one arm across her torso, stretching, then did the same to the other. "Lavian, Ramza will be taking first watch and he'll wake you up later. Everyone, sleep well; this traveling won't be easy."

Assorted rustling and clinking sounded from the makeshift circle as everyone shifted about and rose. Ramza did so as well, only noticing the helping hand Lavian had offered after he'd already reached his feet. As the knight turned away with a frustrated twist to her mouth, Ramza did the same, then made his way to the edge of the campsite closest to the road.

Low murmurs and the rustling of cloth behind him spoke to the women bedding down for the night, but he kept his back to them, kept his face out to the rest of the shadowed world, watching. They didn't have to like him, or enjoy his company, but the least he could do was keep them safe. Let them dream in peace until the uncaring light of day woke them up.

* * *

The next day dawned to a lumpy shell of grey clouds blanketing the world. After rising, Agrias armored up, then stepped to where Ovelia's chocobo stood tied to a stake in the ground. The beast glanced up, eyes wide and owlish, on her arrival, and she ruffled his head feathers before retrieving the saddle from the ground and fitting it to the bird's back.

Shuffling footsteps approached and stopped behind her, and she spoke without turning around. "What is it, Ramza?"

"Do you think we need more people?" His voice was flat, little more than a whisper. "If we're passing through Dorter I might be able to find some old friends."

Agrias frowned at Merambors, then turned to face Ramza. "Can they be trusted?"

He shrugged, face expressionless, hazel eyes staring at her face without quite meeting her gaze. "I trust them. I used to fight with them."

She narrowed her eyes, considering. "How many friends are we talking about?" More than a few might not be practical; there would be the matter of payment, for one thing, not to mention the sticky issue of having potentially more mercenaries than knights guarding Ovelia.

Ramza shrugged again, examining one open hand for some reason. "Depends on how many are there, if any. Could be as many as five, I think."

She made a face at this, then nodded. "Maybe. We'll see when we get there."

Without a word he turned and wandered off towards his already-packed belongings, then simply stood there, staring at nothing. Somewhere among the still mist-shrouded trees, a bird's lonely call echoed.

Shaking her head, Agrias finished up with Merambors, then made her way to Ovelia. In moments everyone was ready, and with a brisk nod she started shouldering through the trees towards the road, holding the occasional branch aside so that the mounted Ovelia could pass with ease.

Immediately Agrias fell in beside the princess and her chocobo -- well, the monastery's chocobo -- with Lavian on the girl's other side. Alicia took point, stalking along the dirt road some ten paces ahead, a diminutive armored figure with a mass of red curls sticking out from under her helmet. Ramza hovered somewhere in the middle before, surprisingly, drifting up towards Alicia.

The knight spared him a sideways scowl. "What's your problem?"

Ramza shrugged.

"Too good to answer, huh?" Alicia grunted, shifting her gaze back to the road. "I don't like you."

He shrugged again. "You don't have to."

"Yeah. Where you from, anyway? You talk like a noble."

"I'm from... around here." Ramza's boots whispered along the surface of the road as though he couldn't be bothered to lift them fully off the ground while walking. "You?"

Alicia rolled her shoulders. "Lesalia. Graduated top of my class, with Lavian. Don't mess with us."

"Why would I bother?"

"You just have the look, smartass. And don't talk back to me."

He glanced sideways. "Easily offended, aren't you?"

The knight snorted. "I just don't put up with nonsense. Where'd you study, anyway? I know you studied somewhere."

"Gariland."

"Who taught you?"

"Lots of people."

Agrias allowed herself a half-smile at the fumbling conversation ahead. Alicia was probably glad to find someone who annoyed her.

"Don't 'lots of people me,' jerk. Who? Was it Hamilton? Dyson? I heard Hamilton was a drunk."

"Both. And I've never seen Hamilton drink."

"Yeah?" Alicia shot the man a sidelong sneer. "How would you know? You probably slacked off so much you never saw your instructors anyway."

Ramza shook his head without bothering to answer.

The knight spun to punch his shoulder. "Jerk! You answer me when I ask you a question, _Iceman_."

He spared her a flat, cold stare before returning his attention to the road. Silence stretched.

As Alicia started tearing into the man again, Ovelia shifted in her saddle. "He's... a little frightening, isn't he?" she whispered, gloved hands gripping the chocobo's reins tightly. "He's so quiet, like... a walking ghost."

"Yeah," whispered Lavian on the other side of the chocobo, clearly trying to keep her voice low enough so as not to carry to the bickering pair up ahead. "It's a little uncomfortable talking to him."

Agrias nodded slowly. "He's... odd," she admitted, keeping her eyes fixed on the man's back, "and a little... melodramatic for such a subdued guy, maybe, but he's right. We don't have to like him, only trust him. Or would you prefer Gafgarion, still?"

Lavian grimaced, shaking her head, and Ovelia sighed. "No, you're right," murmured the princess. "He's just... I don't know. It seems like he... has no remorse. Like he doesn't enjoy killing, but it doesn't bother him at all either."

"Just wait," advised Agrias softly. "Not everyone has to be chatty, and not everyone has to wear their heart on their sleeve. It's a little early to be judging him like this, so let's just let him be for now, shall we?"

Ovelia grimaced, ducking her head. "You're right, Agrias. I'm sorry." Past her, Lavian stared into the trees.

Waving the apology away, Agrias spared a backwards glance to make certain no one was sneaking up on their party from behind, then returned to watching Alicia trying to pry conversation out of a stoic Ramza. The road wound on into mist and leaf-shadow.

Eventually Lavian gave her head a toss. "So are we stopping in Dorter or just passing through?"

Agrias gave her lips a twist. "We'll see when we get there."

* * *

By midmorning, the fog had dissipated. Thus, when Ramza shuffled to a stop atop a low hill just west of Dorter, only the faint haze of distance obscured his view of the city. Perhaps a half-mile away, the place lay on a curving section of green coastline, a jumbled collection of buildings smashed haphazardly together; countless stone piers jutted out from them and into foaming grey waters, teeming with visible activity even from far away.

A backhanded slap from Alicia clacked against his shoulder. "Keep moving, jerk."

Smoothing a scowl, he shook off his introspection and complied, keeping his head down as he strode along the road. _Dorter._ He'd lost count of how many times he'd been through the city since disbanding his squad at Fort Zeakden, and he'd never really thought about it. Now that he was considering finding his old companions, however, it seemed a new and intimidating place; something fluttered in his belly, some sparkle of nerves, as though even now they were watching him approach and knew exactly why he was there. They'd known him before. They'd known Alma.

No one spoke as they covered the last distance to the open gates. Muted cloud-light brought out the green in the grass, and was still bright enough to make him squint.

The guards at the gates barely even glanced at such a small party as they arrived. He'd been nervous bringing Ovelia to such a busy and populous place, but the soldiers' eyes swept right past her without a pause, and after a moment he made a face. Nobody knew what she looked like.

Almost immediately the familiar feel of the city washed over him. A constant buzz of activity and conversation, the sharp odors of food cooking in street vendors' stalls, the shuffling press of people milling around in crowded market squares. Every city was like this, but Dorter more so. At least the chocobo earned them a token amount of open space in which to move.

He knew where he was going, but before he could even set out on the way, Agrias caught up to him and poked his shoulder. "How long will it take to find your friends?" She spoke loudly, almost shouting over the noise of the city.

"I don't know." He knew where to find Jasmine, at least; she'd had a fling with the owner of the Watery Grave some two years back, and had claimed that she'd be around there often should Ramza ever need to find her. "Why? How long do you want to stay?"

Agrias gave him a brief stare before shifting sapphire eyes back to the crowd all around. "I don't want to spend the night in Dorter. If you can find your friends before... say, two or three hours after nightfall, they can come with us. Otherwise we're leaving without them."

He nodded. "Where do you want me to find you afterwards?"

"We'll get a room at the Silver Sextant just to stay out of sight." The Holy Knight paused as a pair of screaming children chased each other across her path, then continued with a faint smile touching those porcelain features. "The room will be in my name, so ask for me."

Nodding again, he turned to leave, but her gloved hand gripped his shoulder. With a scowl he turned back and brushed her hand away. "What?"

If his rudeness bothered her, she didn't show it. Instead she eyed Lavian, then jerked a thumb in his direction. "Lavian, go with him. We'll be at the Sextant." People flowed around their conversation in both directions, ignoring them completely.

As the younger knight nodded, Ramza shook his head. "No. I'll go alone."

Lavian hesitated, glancing to her superior, and Agrias quirked a golden eyebrow. "Oh? Why?"

After a moment he shrugged, kicking at the dirt street. In truth he wasn't certain why he didn't want anyone along; it had been a reflexive refusal. _I... guess I don't really want them seeing this conversation._ The process of explaining his needs to his old companions, if any were even there, would involve speaking of things he'd cornered off in his heart. Lavian didn't need to know about them. Nobody did.

Eventually Agrias sighed tightly. "Fine, whatever. Lavian, let's go."

Alicia's dark eyes narrowed at him but the women left without another word. Ramza watched them until Ovelia's golden hair disappeared down a crowded side street.

Shaking his head, he turned and set off in a different direction, slipping past slower-moving people without apologizing whenever he jostled them. As a man with a well-maintained sword and a visible coinpurse, he was forced to refuse several peddlers' offers to sell him things or sharpen his blade or fix up his armor or whatever else they wanted to do. One fellow actually followed him for a quarter-mile until a wordless stare sent him on his way.

When he finally reached the Grave, he stopped and blinked two steps into the common room. It was quiet inside, with only two customers visible, both men alone, among some twelve circular tables. It had been a livelier place the last time he'd seen it. _Of course, it was night then._

Shortly a nameless pressure in his mind caught his attention and he glanced to the bar, to where a muscular dark-skinned man was giving him a grim stare. Ramza returned the innkeeper's expression briefly before trotting to meet him. "I'm looking for Jasmine." What was his name? Serge? Stanley? Something with an S.

The man behind the bar -- Singleton? -- failed to react visibly to this information; unreadable obsidian eyes stared back with forced patience. "Never heard of her. Who the hell are you?" As he spoke, the fellow flipped a pale towel over his shoulder, then folded arms over his chest.

Ramza avoided the urge to shake his head at this mistake. _If he didn't know her, he wouldn't ask who I was. _ "Ramza. She knows me." If any of the other patrons found this exchange odd, they gave no sign of it, instead both peering into their mugs as the street crowd flowed on outside the windows.

The innkeeper's eyes narrowed a hair at this, and Ramza had the sudden feeling he was being sized up, perhaps compared to some description in the man's head. Eventually, though, Slater just shrugged. "She won't be here until this evening, I'd think. Come back later."

"I'll wait."

"Fine. You want anything to eat?"

"No." As the other fellow wandered off towards the kitchen, Ramza settled himself on one of the barstools, then spun to stare out the windows.

Time passed. The two other customers soon left, and three more came to replace them. Bars of fuzzy colorless daylight crawled across the floor.

As afternoon wore into early evening, the crowd in the common room grew dramatically; apparently people still came here to drink. Ramza did so as well after dining, simply sitting in place with a mug of chilled milk and watching everyone else. Some details jumped out to catch his attention, things he'd never noticed when he'd been one of those in the center, doing things, instead of one on the edge, watching. There were as many women as men, he saw. None looked older than twenty or maybe twenty-two. People would stand between tables rather than impose on a table only half-full with other customers. Nobody met his gaze for longer than a heartbeat or two.

Eventually people claimed all the other barstools, including those to either side of him. On his left, a taller fellow with a reddish goatee nodded a question at him over a mug of ale. "Milk, huh?"

Ramza eyed the man, then returned his gaze to the common room crowd.

"I said, 'Milk, huh?'" Red spoke more loudly, more clearly.

Ramza ignored him, instead taking another sip of his beverage.

"I know you heard me. What kinda man drinks milk in a place like this? You a lightweight?"

He shrugged, aware of the few people closest to him pausing to watch, perhaps sensing a fight in the brewing. _A fight, huh?_

The nameless man poked his shoulder roughly. "Don't you talk? You a noble, too good to speak with the drinking classes?"

Ramza shook his head. As a bastard he'd never had more than a questionable claim on his title, and he'd left it all behind in any case, but some people just seemed able to sense it.

"I don't like a guy who doesn't talk. Least you could do is tell me to piss off so I don't waste my breath. I don't like an inconsiderate guy either." Another poke.

Ramza sighed, turning only his head to regard the fellow. "You want to fight me, don't you?"

Red grinned; pine-colored eyes glittered without humor. "I'm not afraid of that sword, if that's what you're thinking. I could take you apart."

"Fine." Downing the last of his milk, Ramza deposited the empty mug on the bar, then stood. "Outside." _I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm such an idiot._

The other man laughed, leaving his mug half-full as he stepped away from the bar. "Let's go."

Ramza evaluated the local out of the corners of his eyes as they pushed through the crowd. Tall, but skinny. Probably a fighter like Rad. He sported outdoorsman's garb, leather and weathered green wool, rather than the craftsman's clothes found on most of the inn's other patrons. Likely he knew how to handle himself in a fight.

Once outside, Ramza turned around to explain he wouldn't be using his sword, then took a fist in the nose before he could even speak. Another followed almost instantly, and then he was on his knees, holding hands up to defend himself, but the blows kept coming. Punches rained without mercy on his chest and shoulders, in his face, coming seemingly from nowhere; it was dark out, and the stars in his vision wouldn't let him see much in any case.

Somehow he wound up on the ground, but this didn't stop the punishment. Booted feet struck his stomach, his ribs and back. Something cracked somewhere; the warm taste of blood welled up in his mouth.

When it finally stopped, he rolled around until his hands found something. Dirt. The ground. Coughing, spitting blood into the street, he started crawling, hoping to get into the alley beside the inn before he lost consciousness. Once there he flopped to his back and groaned at the dark sky above.

"_Ramza?_ What the hell?" A familiar voice.

He twitched, trying and failing to rise. After a moment he settled on an answering groan. Stars still twinkled in his eyes, and a line of pain and pressure in his chest kept his stomach clenched. Something was broken there.

Hands touched him, lifted him, checked his injuries. "Ramza, you got into a fight, didn't you?"

He blinked, trying to focus on a blurry face. "Wh... Jasmine?"

Somebody sighed. "Vector, go get some potions, would you?" Somebody else muttered something, and soft footsteps hurried out of the alley.

Ramza slumped, but the hands holding him were strong enough to keep him half-upright. Not Jasmine, then. "Who... who else?"

"Knox." The big man's voice was, as always, strangely gentle. "Ramza, I think you got robbed, too. If you had a sword or any money on you, they're gone now."

_Robbed. Serves me right._ "I'm... sorry, guys. I don't know what...."

"Ramza." Jasmine spoke quietly, almost whispering. "Did you even fight back?"

He shook his head. The world's spinning continued even after he stopped, and his stomach clenched further.

She sighed again. "Are you... can you think straight? Can you talk?"

"Who else is around?" He paused, swallowing, grimacing at the taste of blood. "Who else can... something... something's come up."

A soft hand touched his face, his forehead. "Just wait for Vector to get back with the potions, okay? We'll talk then, and maybe go somewhere else."

He nodded, slumping further into Knox's hands, and waited. His breath bubbled in his nostrils.

When Vector finally returned, he brought with him a scrip full of potions. Ramza used three and found he was able to stand upright and reason clearly, even if his body still ached with bruises.

Jasmine eyed him warily. In the dark she was little but shadows, but she seemed different from before, somehow; she wore black clothes now, a man's clothes, as though to blend into the night, and her hair had been pulled back into a dark wavy tail. A handful of bracelets, mostly metal, clinked on her wrists with every movement, and a simple silver hoop had been pierced through one nostril. Apart from the superficial differences, though, she seemed more... serious? A little less flirty. Though that could simply have been the situation.

Eventually she nodded, and the two other men relaxed, Knox releasing Ramza in the process. Vector still seemed nervous as ever, grinning and running fingers through his sandy hair, though now he wore the faded utilitarian garments of men unwilling to draw notice to themselves, and he didn't carry a bow. Knox still towered, still looked capable of throwing an anvil through a brick wall, and still boasted a knight's heavy armor and sword, though they looked better than what Ramza had seen on him before. His broad face staring impassively down would have worked equally well on a bronze statue.

"So what's the problem?" asked Jasmine in a low voice, planting hands on her hips with a soft metallic jingle. "I assume there is a problem, and that you're not just dropping in to say hi."

Ramza nodded, touching his head with a grimace. It was still pounding. "It's... sort of a long story." _Damn it. I told Delita I didn't want to get involved in politics, and here I am, escorting the Princess to Lionel instead of Lesalia. If this doesn't sort itself out soon I'll be in the middle of a civil war._

Jasmine nodded again, glancing down the alley towards the street, where the crowd had thinned only slightly since daylight. "Then maybe we'd better go somewhere private."

Ramza swallowed. "Yeah. That might be for the best."

* * *

"Where the hell _is_ he?" Alicia scowled at the door as though it were Ramza.

Agrias shrugged, glancing once again at the line of darkness between the shutters of the inn room's window. "Beats me. If he doesn't get here soon, though, we're leaving the city." He was right -- they did need more than three people guarding the Princess -- but that didn't mean she would entrust Ovelia's safety to a city whose notice they were trying to avoid. If it came to that, one of the girls could stay in the room to meet Ramza while she and the other took the Princess out of town.

"You told him what inn we were at, didn't you?" murmured Lavian, giving her hair a toss as she frowned at the door with Alicia.

"Of course I did," snapped Agrias. "You heard me; you were right there."

"I was trying not to eavesdrop!"

Agrias shrugged and didn't answer. Like the others, she was ready to go, packed and armed and armored; the only thing left unprepared was Merambors, who was still in the inn's stable. In truth the room in which they sat was a decent one, fairly large and with two wide beds, but four impatient women in an enclosed space growing slowly warmer was not a recipe for easy conversation. Only Ovelia seemed unaffected, though the way she sat, eyes down and hands folded in her lap, could easily have concealed a similar frustration.

Alicia grunted. "I swear to God, if he's not here in the next few minutes, I'm going to cut his--"

A knock from the door cut her off. A blink later, Lavian bounded to her feet to answer it.

Out in the hallway stood the innkeeper, a tall but wrinkled man whose little remaining white hair had been arranged as though to cover as much of his baldness as possible. His smile was warm, however, as he bowed to the knight. "My ladies. A fellow has arrived here and has asked after you by name. What do you want me to tell him?"

Lavian paused, glancing back, and Agrias nodded. "Send him up here, if you would. And thank you, Nash."

"Of course." Bowing again, the man disappeared down the hallway.

Agrias turned to Ovelia. "Are you ready, Princess?"

The girl smiled. "Of course, Agrias. We've been ready for hours." Her tone was amused, not irritated; perhaps the waiting really hadn't bothered her.

"Of course." Unfolding herself to stand, Agrias offered a hand for the Princess to do likewise, and there followed a moment of shifting and rustling as the four of them settled in to waiting _again_ for Ramza, though at least this time should....

He appeared in the doorway more quickly than she'd been expecting, but at the sight of him it was all she could do not to gape. He was still recognizably the same man -- average height and build, straw-colored hair, dead hazel eyes -- but now one of those eyes was blackish and swollen shut, and the rest of his face sported several bruises, some of which had simply split under some heavy impact. His nose was puffy as well, perhaps broken, and his upper lip boasted a few smears of dried blood as though the rest of it had been wiped on a sleeve or some such.

Alicia recovered first. Stepping swiftly forward, she glared up at the man and strained visibly for every inch of height. "You'd better be praying you were in a fight," she growled, "because if not, you're about to be in another one for being so damn late."

Ramza stared at her without expression, then shifted his gaze to Agrias. "I apologize for my tardiness. My friends are downstairs." His voice was as flat as the floorboards beneath his feet. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and shuffled away, out of view.

Agrias shook her head, while beside her Ovelia exhaled as though she'd been holding her breath. The other two knights simply straightened cloaks and scabbards and such, though Alicia did it with a dark scowl. When they were ready, Agrias nodded. "Let's go. It's about damn time."

Alicia was the first out of the room, and Agrias followed with the Princess. The stairs creaked somewhat under her armored weight, prompting Ovelia to quirk a smile, and shortly they were in the common room.

Her eyes found Ramza immediately; his lifeless manner made his body language stick out like a sore thumb from the handfuls of chattering patrons in the inn's common room. With him stood two men and a woman, all staring carefully in her direction.

Wasting no time, Agrias strode towards them. "I'm Agrias Oaks. Who are all of you?"

Once again, while Ramza settled into curt introductions, she paid only partial attention and instead sized each mercenary up. He didn't give last names, and she didn't ask. _Jasmine._ A pretty woman, olive skin, dark hair and eyes, a pleasant smile. Dressed like a priestess, though the nose-ring and bracelets were out-of-place on a member of the clergy. _Vector._ A man slightly taller than Ramza though his twitchy demeanor made him seem smaller. Fair features, mousy hair, unable to make eye contact for more than a blink. Dressed for movement rather than heavy combat, with several knives on his person. _Knox._ A bruiser, bonebreaker, a tower of a man in armor, but with plain features and dark eyes that carried nothing of cruelty.

When Ramza was done, Agrias nodded. None of the newcomers tingled her sense of suspicion, and at least they'd likely make for easier travel than Ramza alone would. "This is Alicia and Lavian."

The sellswords offered polite nods and murmured greetings. Though all three spared a glance for the hovering Ovelia, none seemed outwardly surprised at her presence or lack of introduction. Ramza must have explained already.

_Good. I think._ Clearing a momentary frown, Agrias nodded once more. "Further conversation can wait until we're on the road. I want to get at least a couple of hours out of the city before we stop tonight. Let's go." Turning, she strode for the door to the stables, and the others followed. None in the inn spared a second glance in their direction.

In moments Merambors was saddled and ready, thanks to a young stableboy who grew visibly nervous working with eight pairs of eyes watching him. Then, with a polite smile, Agrias flipped the boy a coin, helped the Princess atop the feathered mount, and led the party out into the lamplit street.

In the city they drew stares but no trouble. The guards at the gate let them pass with a friendly wave.

During the day the clouds had broken up somewhat, allowing periodic fragments of silver moonlight to etch out the contours of the road ahead before darkness swallowed it up again. A hidden chorus of crickets in the grass kept time to their steady march, sometimes softened by distance along with the lapping of the sea. It nagged at Agrias to be traveling with three people she didn't know at all, as though some measure of introductory conversation was hanging just out of sight, conspicuous in its absence, but she didn't break the silence and neither did anyone else. They were professionals, then, or maybe just quiet types.

Some time later, perhaps an hour and a half, she called a halt and led everyone a good hundred paces off the road, wading through shadows and whispering grass. Her back ached, an irritating twinge between her shoulder blades from walking so long in armor, but it was as familiar as breathing and she kept the discomfort from her face as she directed Alicia and Lavian to see to the minimal camp preparations they'd need. Then, with a smile and a hand, she helped Ovelia to the ground and saw to unsaddling the chocobo. In truth, this was a job she could have given the girls as well, but she disliked handling bedding more than she disliked handling chocos, and the girls would mutter if given everything to do.

After giving Merambors a fond head-rub, she sought and found Ramza chatting quietly with his friends. A single tap on his shoulder summoned his attention. "A moment, if you would."

The man nodded as his companions fell silent, expressions unreadable in the thick darkness. He followed without a word as she turned and strolled out into the plains, a short distance away from the camp.

Once satisfied that no one could overhear, she faced him once more. "You got into a fight in the city, didn't you." It wasn't a question; even in the shadows the damage on his face was clear.

Ramza nodded again, undisturbed by the accusation. "Yeah."

Her brow tightened. "Why?"

He shrugged. "The guy wanted to fight me."

"You shouldn't do that anymore, Ramza. While you're with us, with Ovelia, you have responsibilities." _A barfight. Honestly._

"I know." His voice was quiet, uninflected, as though he were simply voicing another's words. "You're right. It was stupid."

"You don't sound very convinced," she sighed. _Ovelia's safety, partly in the hands of a drunken brawler._

"No, I am." He paused, glancing back at the rest of the party. "I knew right away it was stupid. I keep wondering what Alma wou--" He cut himself off so quickly she could hear his teeth click together. "But I found everyone else, right? So it wasn't a total mess."

_Alma?_ Agrias frowned; the name was familiar, tickling something in her memory, but she couldn't place it, and it seemed unlikely Ramza would elaborate if she asked. "True. Just keep your head in the future, okay? I don't want to have this conversation again."

"Fine." As he spoke he was already turning away, heading back towards the camp.

She gripped his shoulder before he could get more than a step away. "Wait. There are four of you now, so I feel like I should come up with some terms for your contract."

Ramza shifted his head slightly in her direction but didn't turn around. "Why bother?"

She blinked. "Why wouldn't I? You're mercenaries and I'm the one hiring you."

"Just pay for our food until we get to Lionel," he sighed, "and for any equipment we need. That'll be enough." Brushing off her hand, he started again towards the campsite.

Scowling, Agrias hurried to fall in beside him. "That's stupid," she hissed, keeping her eyes fixed on the undefined shadows of the others ahead. "This isn't a half-assed affair, Ramza. Ovelia's the heir to the throne, and Alicia and Lavian and I are St. Konoe; we can't just--"

"Fine. If it'll make you sleep easy, do it, I guess."

She bit back another retort and waited a moment before speaking. Grass whispered against both of their legs as they walked. "Why are they helping us?"

"Because I asked them to."

They were close to the rest of the group now, too close for further conversation; Agrias felt her lips writhing in frustration. When Ramza angled back towards his friends, she followed, ignoring Lavian's eyes on her back.

The mercenaries hadn't moved from their earlier positions in just a few moments, so three faces turned to greet her with visible caution. Vector wouldn't meet her eyes, again. Jasmine's smile was nothing but the dictate of politeness, and Knox's expression was carefully blank. None of them said a word.

Agrias avoided the vague urge to swallow and instead nodded briskly. "So, for payment. My suggestion is that we--"

Jasmine held up a hand; bracelets and white sleeve alike slid down her forearm with a soft tinkle at the motion. "Please. If you insist, just cover our expenses. We have some funds of our own already." A sparkle in her eye now accompanied the smile, perhaps from amusement.

Agrias opened her mouth, then paused, glancing to the men. Knox nodded soberly, while Vector's nod came with a lopsided grin. "Fine," she sighed. "Why?" As she spoke, Alicia drifted up beside her, eyeing the others guardedly, eyebrows drawn, one hand on her hilt.

The mercenaries exchanged silent glances. "Why, what?" wondered Knox.

She frowned. "Why are you doing this?" _This is a little shady._

Jasmine's smile grew and her eyes cut towards Ramza. "Because if Ramza wants to do it, it's a good cause." The man himself didn't meet her gaze as she spoke, instead staring bleakly at the ground as though her words caused him pain. After a moment Jasmine's smile faded.

Agrias studied the dead-eyed killer, confused, thinking. _They've known him for a while, it sounds like. Has he always been like this and they can just see through it? Or are they wrong about him, and he's changed?_

Eventually, however, she just shrugged. "Suit yourselves. We'll be dividing the night up into watches. I'll go first, then Lavian and Alicia, and the rest of you can sort yourselves out after that."

* * *

Jasmine walked along the sunny road with something of a spring in her step. Life in Dorter had started to get... not boring, exactly, but somewhat routine. Different customers, different faces, same odd tasks. Hunt down stolen goods. Investigate rumors for concerned individuals. Follow a wife, or a husband, to ensure there was no infidelity going on. And neither Vector nor Knox would flirt with her very often.

There hadn't been a great many options for ex-military without an interest in fighting, but they'd gotten along well enough, found a niche and prospered. She'd seen the others on occasion, Spider and June, whenever they passed through Dorter for the new Hokuten companies they'd been absorbed into; a few drinks once every few months, an evening of reminiscing, was about all she could manage with them now. They were pleasant enough people, to be sure, but just... on the other side of a philosophical sea. They didn't get it, not like she and the boys did, didn't get what had driven Ramza to give up the sword as a way of life rather than a tool. A decision that, apparently, had not been permanent.

He was a deeply-troubled man now, she suspected, not that she could blame him. His entire body language shouted it, walking up near the front as he was. _I'm sad! I don't want to talk to you, and you don't want to talk to me! Grrrrr!_ She'd _have_ to talk to him at some point, however, find out why he was still like that and if she could help at all. The boys would be of no help there, of course; men tended to give each other distance over matters of the heart, like it was the polite thing to do. As though it would--

"Jasmine."

She blinked, turning half-around and falling back to where Agrias strode next to Ovelia's chocobo. The Holy Knight was something of a... direct woman, she'd noted, clear blue eyes that never seemed to waver, a face chiseled from marble, an intricate golden braid that seemed the only decorative thing about her. "Yes?"

"Are you really a priestess?" Sapphire eyes held her, awaiting an answer. Beyond the knight, the Princess blinked at the directness of the question.

Jasmine grinned. "Wanna cut yourself so I can heal you?"

Ovelia snickered, and Agrias made a wry face. "No, just an answer will suffice. I've never seen a priest like you."

"I should hope not." Adjusting her robe, Jasmine paused before speaking, for no real reason she could point to. "It's true I'm not associated with the clergy hierarchy, if that's what you're asking. I did learn the basics of white magic from Sister Victoria in Gariland, though, and it's not like there are no other itinerant priests. I'm legitimate." She paused. "Why?"

Agrias remained silent for a moment, blue eyes unreadable as they weighed the merit of this response. Seven pairs of boots and one of claws scraped quietly against the road as they traveled. Eventually, though, the Holy Knight pursed her lips and nodded. "No reason, really. I just want to know as much as possible about the people helping me guard the Princess."

_But her first question was almost an accusation. She doesn't trust us._ Jasmine smiled anyway, hoping to defuse the situation further. "We're not hiding anything, Agrias. If you want to know things, just ask, and we'll tell you." _You might not get a straight answer from Vector, but you won't get an outright lie either._

The other woman chuckled, squinting ahead at where the road disappeared into the thick shadows of Araguay Woods. "Fine. I might take you up on that offer after we make camp again."

"Okay." Jasmine let her smile fade along with the brief conversation, and once again a comfortable traveling silence fell over the party. After a moment she drifted up to her original spot, near the front with the tiny knight Alicia.

The road wore onward, shortly needling into the Woods, a leaf-topped haven of arrow-straight tree trunks and wet insect-filled shade. The absence of conversation among the party was more than balanced out by a constant and discordant chorus of chirping, buzzing and croaking from creatures hidden among the trees and water. Jasmine found herself smiling; the Woods might be an oppressive place, but it was definitely _alive_.

It was some two hours later, around midday, when a sound apart from the usual forest variety caught her attention. Voices. Muttering voices.

Pausing, she exchanged a wary glance with Alicia, then studied her surroundings more sharply while the other woman hurried forward to the top of a low rise in the muddy ground. Trees. Trees and rocky moss-shrouded ground. A few errant rays of sunlight slanting through mist that swirled slowly in the still--

"Goblins," grunted Alicia atop the miniature hill. "A handful of goblins and... looks like a dead chocobo."

With a frown Jasmine scrambled to join the knight, followed shortly by the rest of the party. Indeed, some thirty paces ahead a half-dozen stocky figures were crouched around a bloody mess of golden feathers, probably feeding on the poor thing. Jasmine bared her teeth in an uncomfortable grimace, then swallowed.

"A chocobo?" wondered Lavian, peering at the creatures ahead with some measure of doubt. "Here? They usually stick to open areas, don't they?"

"Maybe it got chased here," grumped Alicia, drawing her blade from its scabbard. "Who cares? It's dead, and they're noticing us." Indeed, as she spoke, one of the goblins whipped around, then jumped and started speaking rapidly to its companions.

Agrias drew her blade as well. "This should be quick," she murmured. "Lavian, hang back with the Princess. Everyone else... just don't do anything stupid."

Rolling her eyes at the needless warning, Jasmine edged forward, letting everyone else rush past her to smash into the screaming, charging goblins. Goblins were strong creatures, really -- one had nearly torn Vector's left arm off, once -- but they went without armor and were generally stupid, fighting without organization or discipline. As such, most of the strangers, the unknowns in her party, fought them cleverly and patiently, hanging on the defensive and then converging to hack one down from several sides at once. That was the textbook approach, and it worked. Agrias was a Holy Knight, of course, and though goblins weren't much of a threat, it was reassuring to see her fighting properly, safely.

Jasmine hadn't expected to classify Ramza as one of the unknowns, though.

She'd known him before as a measured fighter capable of acts of great boldness -- well, _rashness,_ sometimes -- when the situation demanded it, but now he fought like a madman. Lips drawn, sprinting from enemy to enemy, hacking them down with great savage swings from behind or in front, even the wounded and retreating. Tiny spots of crimson on his face from spraying blood. No concern for his own safety, either; he had a shield but only used it when it wasn't convenient to be attacking instead, which was seldom. As such, he took more wounds than anyone else.

When the last goblin dropped in halves to the bloodied ground, Ramza couldn't even stand. One eye was swollen shut -- again -- and the rest of his face was a mess of blood and bruises. More blood stained his clothes and armor, much of it his own, and his shield arm was bent at a funny angle. Other than the wet rasping of his breath, he hadn't made a sound.

He'd killed as many as the rest of the group combined.

Swallowing again, Jasmine frowned in deep concern and hurried over to him, to his side. "Ramza?" Two fingertips on his shoulder.

On his knees, he turned only his head to acknowledge her words, and not very far at that. His closest eye was nothing but a narrow, puffy slit, and the sandy hair hanging in disarray down his forehead was speckled with drying blood. His blade, clutched at the hilt and driven point-first into the ground, seemed to be the only thing holding him up.

When he didn't answer, she lifted the hem of her robes and knelt beside him. "Ramza... let me heal you. None of the others are hurt." They, at least, had fought wisely.

Slowly he turned his head the rest of the way to face her. Whatever was in his good eye, she couldn't read it. Just an amber iris regarding her without twitching.

Eventually he glanced off towards where the rest of the party stood watching, waiting, uncomfortable, and gave his lips a wry twist. "I was surprised to find that you'd become a priestess," he admitted quietly, without looking at her.

"What? Why?"

He shrugged. The motion had to hurt, with his broken arm, but his face didn't show it. "Don't know. Had you figured as... more of the black magic type, I guess."

She hesitated. "Ramza, I'm... no, I like life." When she'd donned the white, Knox had actually said something similar, something about how it seemed someone who enjoyed flirting and mischief, skirting the edge of the rules, would prefer the thrill of using magic to attack over the boredom of support and healing. She'd been confused then, too. "I love my family and my friends, and I love seeing people smile and I hate seeing them hurt. You're a friend too, Ramza, and you need me to heal you."

The man sighed at this, slumping where he knelt. "Yeah. I suppose." Gloved fingers tightened on his sword hilt.

Jasmine felt her eyes tighten but said nothing. It took two spells to erase his wounds.

Nodding, Ramza climbed wearily to his feet... only to have Alicia knock him back to the ground with an all-out punch. His sword thumped to the ground beside him.

As he moaned, clutching his nose, the redheaded knight stood over him, feet apart, arms folded in disdain over her chest. "You fight like a kid, moron. If you'd been smarter, Jasmine wouldn't have had to waste magic on your sorry ass. Grow up."

Jasmine blinked at this, frowning at the open anger on Alicia's freckled face, then at Ramza climbing unsteadily to his feet once more. "It's... it's okay. I don't mind."

The redhead scowled without taking her eyes off Ramza. "You should. It's his fault you--"

"Alicia." Agrias stepped a pace away from the others and crossed arms over her chest. "You can take care of setting up the camp tonight."

Alicia's brow furrowed further and her lips compressed into a thin, irritated line. She didn't turn to acknowledge her commander standing behind her.

When Ramza stopped swaying, he dropped hands from his face and stared at Alicia in silence. Rather than being furious at having one of his companions strike him, he just nodded like this was nothing at all unusual or unexpected. Hazel eyes slid in Jasmine's direction but didn't quite meet her gaze; instead, he bent to retrieve his sword, wiped it on the garments of the dead goblin at his feet, then shoved the thing back into its scabbard and strode off without a word.

Jasmine sighed, exchanging a silent glance with the redhead, then followed her old commander to where the rest of the party was waiting.

Agrias nodded once. "Shall we go?" Beside her, Ovelia's brown eyes were wide and trained on Ramza.

Nobody answered but nobody disagreed, and without a backwards glance they set off again through the forest. This time, the traveling silence _was _uncomfortable.

* * *

"...care about your father? Just give us the holy stone and we'll return him!"

Ramza shuffled to a halt with the rest of the party just outside the walls of Zaland, then glanced about, but there were no other people in sight. Though the speaker, a man, was inside the city, his voice was easily loud enough to carry outside. _Who's... is he talking to us, or what?_

"Okay, guys," continued the unseen speaker. "Get him!"

Before he finished speaking, an oddly-dressed fellow appeared atop the wall as though he'd jumped up. Ignoring Ramza and everyone else below, the newcomer spun back to face those harassing him. "And you can tell Rudvich if he lays a hand on my father, he'll never see the stone!"

Agrias tucked a fluttering strand of golden hair behind one ear as she frowned up the wall. "Someone's after him, huh?"

Ramza eyed her sideways but said nothing. _She's St. Konoe, guarding the Princess. She shouldn't stop to care about every random fight we stumble across. Then again... someone's using that kid's father to threaten him. That's not right._

Before he knew it he was running, hopping a low rocky ridge towards the gate, then bolting through to the interior. A hurried examination of the place left him mere impressions rather than details: warm-colored stone, square lines, quaint homes and shops, a slight slope to the ground. A squad of green-cloaked soldiers attacking the young man.

He sprinted to the nearest such, a wizard, and sunk his sword into the side of the man's neck. A spray of blood made him blink instinctively as the spellcaster sank to his knees with a choked cry, somehow still alive. Ramza fixed that a heartbeat later.

Spinning, he sought another enemy, someone else to fight. Before he could do anything, however, an arrow struck him in the shoulder, spinning him half-around. Sun in his eyes, a blinding halo. Archers? On the roof? He hadn't even seen--

Pain lanced into his back, driving him to his knees, drawing a gasp from his lips. Steel scraped against bone as the sword withdrew from his body, and with a growl he spun, throwing his shield arm in front of the finishing blow he knew would be coming next. A forceful impact numbed his arm and confirmed his suspicions; falling back, he caught himself with his sword hand against the paving stones. His breath bubbled in his lungs, and the knight above him towered like Knox but without the excess muscles.

Abruptly a sword-shaped region of energy flashed through the green-cloak, dazing him. A moment later, Alicia flowed into sight and opened the man's throat.

Ignoring the girl, Ramza staggered to his feet and surveyed his surroundings. Three of the nameless enemies were down, and most of his companions were inside the walls, fighting with him. The blond young man atop the walls seemed to be taking aim at an archer with a compact weapon of some sort.

Coughing, blinking against silver sparks in his vision, Ramza eyed a lone wizard near the corner and limped in his direction. _I'm hurt. He'll be targeting me._

With the fellow in mid-cast, it was an easy matter to stab him to the hilt in the stomach, but although the accursed man gasped, he didn't go down. A blink later he finished his spell with a quiet snap of his fingers.

Blinding, shocking light. Then, suffocating darkness.

* * *

As shouts, screams and explosions sounded from inside the walls, Ovelia watched in rapt silence, hands pressed against her open mouth, eyes riveted on the open gate. Dread boiled in her belly along with the usual fear; this was even worse than most battles. Normally she could at least see what was happening, but here massive stone walls concealed the killing from her eyes. She had no idea who was winning and who was dying. All she could do was imagine all the terrible things that might be happening to her companions and regret being so useless she could do nothing to help them.

At long last, the sounds of struggle dwindled to nothing more than the mundane clink of armored people moving around. Her heart pounded but she held her breath, watching, waiting. Beside her Lavian still stood stoic guard, blade bared and ready.

Shortly a blood-soaked Agrias limped into the gateway from inside, then waved a tired gauntlet. "It's over. Come on in."

Ovelia exhaled heavily, then directed a weak smile at Lavian as the woman was scabbarding her blade. "I hope things weren't too bad in there."

"They're probably fine," dismissed Lavian with an answering smile. "Otherwise she'd have been more agitated. We should hurry, though; the fight will draw attention."

Without waiting for an answer, the knight gripped Merambors' reins in one hand and led the bird swiftly into the city. Ovelia clutched at the reins, peering through the stone gateway as the walls drifted past to reveal the scene inside.

Everyone was hurt, she saw, except for the young man they'd all been trying to save. Ramza was actually face-down and smoldering on the ground, though Jasmine was already tending to him with the white arts. The people they'd been fighting had been wearing green cloaks, apparently, whatever that meant; they lacked insignia.

Agrias' hawklike blue eyes sought her out, then softened as she nodded. Pausing, the Holy Knight regarded the strange newcomer for a moment. "Are you alright?"

The fellow nodded in return. He was slim, golden-haired like she was, though he wore it in a neat ponytail. His garments were perhaps the strangest thing about him, two-tone blue and yellow. "I'm fine, actually. Thank you for helping me."

A groan announced Ramza returning to life over by the corner of the walls. Agrias darted a glance in his direction, then compressed her lips and eyed the street leading into the city. "We're not done helping you yet. We need to hide if you want to stay alive." The bright midday sunlight made her squint as she spoke.

"Oh. Yes, I do." The man patted himself down as though making certain he wasn't forgetting anything, then strolled over to the fallen Ramza and blinked down at him.

Ovelia followed with Lavian, and then everyone was shuffling over to cluster around the bloodied mercenary rising on shaky legs. Agrias bared her teeth in frustrated distaste. "We need to move quickly. Knox, can you carry him?"

The hulking knight nodded. "Of course. Come on, Ramza." Without waiting for permission he bent and hefted his commander to his shoulders, then blinked patiently at Agrias.

The Holy Knight chuckled and shook her head. "Let's go." Suiting actions to words, she turned and started jogging into the city. Everyone else followed.

In only a few moments they were shuffling into the cellar of an empty weaver's shop, even Merambors, though the chocobo warked and growled against Vector's efforts to drag him down the stairs and inside. Once inside, Knox deposited Ramza gently on the floor, against one wall, while Alicia sighed and poked at a gash on her right arm.

In the dimness that followed Vector tugging the door shut, Agrias planted hands on her hips and surveyed the party. "Let's heal up first," she decided; her hushed voice was oddly low in the mildew-infested space. "Then you," she pointed at the young man, "and I are going to talk."

Ovelia shuffled to one wall to let everyone do what they needed to do. Once again she fought the urge to try to help; they knew what they were doing, after all, and if she got her hands bloody Agrias would probably be upset. _They're fine,_ she sighed, watching Jasmine tend to Ramza's serious injuries for the second time in as many days. _They're fine. I just... wish they didn't all have to fight for me. Bleed for me. This isn't fair._

Once everyone's wounds were gone, Ramza turned to face Alicia without expression. "No punch this time?"

The knight's lips thinned. Though she barely rose to his chin, her bristling personality made her seem somehow slightly larger. Dark eyes, nothing but shadows in the cellar's darkness, narrowed at the mercenary, but eventually she just grunted. "You were stupid, of course, but whatever you have in place of a heart was in the right place today."

"Yeah," murmured Agrias, stepping towards the pair, brow furrowed. "Why did you do that anyway, Ramza? Run up and fight, I mean."

All eyes slid to the dead-eyed man, who only stared back at the Holy Knight. After a moment he shifted to regard the nameless young man standing in the corner. "Weren't we going to question him?"

"We?" repeated Agrias dryly, following his gaze. "Whatever. I suppose you can join me, if you want to. This way." Beckoning the two men with a curt gesture, she turned and strode off into the depths of the cellar and around a corner. Without fanfare Ramza and the newcomer followed. Occasional cracks in the walls or floorboards above let enough dusty light filter through to illuminate their path.

Ovelia stared after the three, chewing a lip. From what she knew of Agrias, the woman would press him for answers as though he were a threat, like he'd somehow _made_ everyone try to save him as part of some devious plan to get near her. _Maybe she--_

"So," exhaled Lavian behind her. "It's Knox, right?"

Blinking, Ovelia turned about. Lavian was leaning back against one wall, hands behind her waist, as she regarded the big mercenary. Alicia watched on with clear disgust written across her features, while Vector smiled nervously at his feet.

Knox nodded, tugging his helmet from his head and running fingers through his messy hair. "That's right."

Lavian pursed her lips. "I think your new name is Brix."

He frowned at the helmet in his hands. "Why?"

"Because that's what you're made out of."

The man paused at this, head tilted. Then he shrugged. "No, Knox is fine."

"Great. Where you from, Brix?"

"It's Knox. An estate near Gariland, originally. On the coast."

"Is it pretty there?"

He shrugged again. "At night, yeah. When it got calm, the stars would reflect off the water like a... ripply mirror. But then, sometimes it smelled like dead fish."

Lavian pondered this for a moment, then shifted her gaze to Vector. "How about you, then? Where are you from?"

The mousy fellow shifted his feet and laughed nervously. "I'm, um... by the... I'm from Igros. I don't, um... yeah."

"Oh? Igros?" Lavian grinned. "You a Beoulve, then?"

"What?" Vector's head jerked sharply upward and he stared at the knight before breaking into another nervous laugh. "No! I'm not, um, not that well-born." One hand rose to pinch his own cheek as he spoke. "I'm just, you know... just a guy, really."

Lavian's grin didn't change. "But a noble."

"Well... yeah."

Ovelia watched the conversation with vague interest. _Why is he so nervous? He's sort of shy anyway, I think, but... could she be flirting? Is that it?_

Jasmine shifted against her own wall. The white hood shadowed most of her face, leaving only her lips visible. "You ask a lot of questions, don't you, Lavian?"

The knight tossed her head, then fixed the other woman with a stare. Long moments passed in silence.

Then they both smiled.

Ovelia's skin crawled. _Oh. They... they don't like each other, I don't think._

"I'm just trying to get to know my traveling companions," answered Lavian finally, absently, as she slapped an odd patch of rock-dust from one sleeve. "It doesn't hurt to be friendly, I always say."

Jasmine's hood swayed in a nod. "I should imagine."

"Of course." Lavian's lips curled into another smile. Jasmine smiled as well.

_This is uncomfortable._ Clearing a frown, Ovelia glanced back at where Agrias and the others had disappeared moments before. Then, sighing, she set off after them. Her slippers made very little noise on the damp stone floor.

The cellar turned out to be larger than she'd expected, angles and corners and little hallways glistening faintly with ground-moisture in the ghostly ambient light. She was starting to wonder whether the others had left the structure altogether when the echoing of a quiet voice led her to them.

"...Bart Company after you?" Agrias was asking.

There was a pause before the young man's voice answered. "You... said you were going to see the Cardinal? He was a hero of the Fifty Year War, and people in Lionel still think of him as a hero. My father, too. The Cardinal is the only one who can unite this country. I'm sure he'll grant your wish, and then the Princess would be safe."

Ovelia blinked, hanging behind the corner of the room the three were in, just out of sight. She hadn't realized the boy had recognized her. Or perhaps Agrias or Ramza had simply told him who she was.

"Yeah," acknowledged Agrias dryly. "And?"

"So, can you take me with you?" The cheer in his voice sounded forced. "I want to meet the Cardinal."

"Why?" fired back the Holy Knight.

"To save my father!" Now the young man sounded a little nervous, maybe a little desperate. "The Cardinal's the only one who can rescue him from Bart Company, but he wouldn't want to meet some mechanic like myself. So please, take me with you!"

Another brief silence ensured, but then Agrias snorted. "You still haven't told us why they're after you."

"I... I can't tell you now," whispered the man.

"Then we can't take you." Agrias' voice carried the tone of a verbal shrug.

"Please!" implored the stranger. "You can trust me! I must see the Cardinal!"

The others hesitated again, and Ovelia found herself worrying a lip. The man seemed harmless enough, and his destination coincided with their own, so why not take him? But it sounded like he had enemies, enemies so powerful he needed Cardinal Draclau's help to stop them. But who could be worse than the Hokuten and Nanten put together? _We should take him, shouldn't we? At the least, he seems to know this area well._

After a moment, though, she sighed. She might be able to convince Agrias to bring him along, perhaps, but Ramza was... another matter altogether. She wasn't certain she wanted to disagree with him. _And, really... they're probably right, I suppose. I guess I'm too important to risk by having unknown people around._

"If you want us to trust you," came Ramza's flat voice, "then you have to trust us. Fair's fair. Tell us why they're after you."

The other man sighed as though deflating. "Fine. It's... this." Clothing rustled momentarily.

Agrias gasped. "Is that... what _is _that?"

"It's Taurus," answered the stranger quietly. "A Zodiac stone."

Ovelia clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from shouting. _How does he have a Zodiac stone? No wonder people are trying to kill him!_

"Oh my God," breathed Agrias. "I... didn't think they were real."

"Where did you get it?" asked Ramza; if he was surprised at all, he didn't sound like it.

The mechanic sighed again. "There are... old machine parts buried under Goug. This was there too. When it gets too close to the old machines, they start to shake and howl."

"So... Rudvich wants the stone," reasoned Agrias after a moment. She seemed to have recovered her composure. "Why?"

"To make weapons," answered the young man. "My father said never to give it to him, so they captured him. They're using him as leverage against me."

"And you want to fight them?" wondered Ramza; there was an... edge to his voice now. "When they're holding your father hostage?"

"Well, they haven't had him that long," explained the mechanic. "I was hoping to get to Lionel quickly. Even if the Cardinal doesn't want to fight to free my father, he could maybe negotiate to get him back much better than I could alone. But I don't think Rudvich would hurt my father anyway; he just wants the stone, and if he thinks I might give it to him, he'll need his _leverage_ in good health."

"Yeah," murmured Ramza, almost whispering. "You... you can't take anything for granted, though. Things... happen."

Ovelia frowned; there was something there, it seemed, something capable of drawing emotion out of the mercenary. Had someone hurt his father, perhaps? _And do I really need to worry about it? It would kind of be prying._

Clothes shifted again in the next room and she blinked; the silence had stretched long enough that the conversation might be ending soon. Lips thinned, she gathered her dress carefully and tiptoed back towards the rest of the party, away from the room full of secrets.

The others were still chatting when she arrived. Lavian gave her an inquisitive smile but said nothing.

Moments later, Agrias arrived with the two men. "This is Mustadio Bunanza," she declared, gesturing to the mechanic. "He'll be coming with us to Lionel."

"Charmed," smiled Lavian.

* * *

_Light. Darkness and light. The light seared, cold and brilliant, but the darkness was warm, so very warm and comfortable. He tried to seek it, tried to flee the light, but it hooked into him, drew him back to someplace painful, someplace full of edges and hard things and cold empty air._

Ramza awoke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright, smacking his head into Jasmine's in the process. Confused, he clutched his forehead and glanced around. He was sitting on the edge of a rocky peak half-covered in green scrub clinging with determination to the hard ground. His companions, some injured, were finishing off enemy wounded and relieving the dead of their valuable belongings. In two places clear crystals already rotated, the concentrated essence of the unfortunate. Above, a scattered patchwork of clouds drifted slowly along, their bottoms dark and flattened as though sliding across some invisible surface.

After a moment he slumped as memory dawned. _Oh, right. Those guys wanted to kill Mustadio and take the stone._

Beside him, Jasmine sat back on her heels and rubbed her cheek with a rueful grin. "Glad to see you're awake."

"Yeah." Two Shivas and an arrow in the throat hadn't treated him well. "Everyone else is fine?"

"Of course," she sighed, pushing herself to her feet. Her boots scraped against stone with the movement. "Everyone else is always fine. It's just you."

"Yeah." Grimacing, he accepted a hand from the woman and rose on wobbly legs. His entire body ached all over, and the tingling sting of frostbite was a very noticeable reminder of the spells that had hit him. The wind wasn't helping matters, either.

Once he was up, Jasmine gripped his shoulder, then pointed a short distance upslope, to where Lavian was squatting near the corpse of an enemy archer. One of the crystals glowed faintly behind her. "Take that thing. No one else is hurt as much as you."

"I know. I will." Without looking at her he set off shuffling towards the crystal, but the priestess accompanied him anyway, one arm around his shoulders to keep him upright. His lips tightened at the help but he made no move to push her away.

In moments the crystal puffed to vapor and a familiar roar arose in his ears. His muscles tensed of their own accord as what was broken was made whole, but soon he relaxed.

Now standing without trouble, he made his way to where the others were standing, dented, ruffled and wind-blown. Agrias' golden hair flapped like a banner in a particularly strong gust. "Sorry," he offered to everyone in general. "I just--"

The Holy Knight cut him off with a sharp gesture, blue eyes narrowed. "Don't worry about it. We need to move quickly, though; Bart Company clearly knows we're around here and it won't take them long to track us down."

Ramza felt his brow furrow. "Are you planning to reach Lionel tonight?"

She shook her head, then grimaced, brushing hair from her face. "Not a chance, in this terrain. We need to get as far as we can make it, though."

As soon as she was done speaking he nodded, then set off towards the road winding its way southward through the hills. Everyone else hurried to catch up.

Travel proved tense and silent. Ramza understood; three battles in three days wasn't a good sign. The goblins, one could write off as happenstance, but two fights against Bart Company was nothing to dismiss lightly, and the danger would only get worse as they made it farther south, deeper into their territory.

In truth, though he understood what worried his companions, he couldn't make himself share their degree of concern. Everyone had to die at some point.

Once the curtain of twilight fell over Ivalice Agrias called a halt. Some distance off the road, hidden by a low hill, they made camp. The Holy Knight forbade her girls from making a fire, and Ramza did the same for his friends. If three battles in three days was too much, two in a matter of hours would be nothing but a headache.

The mood of concern didn't prevent a few quiet conversations from breaking out over water and rations. Ramza ate by himself, listened to the chatter, and did not participate. Ovelia was the only other one to keep her tongue. At several points he spotted Jasmine eyeing him in what was perhaps concern, and Alicia shot him numerous scowls which she made no attempt to conceal and which he made no attempt to soothe; whatever she was mad at him about, she was probably right.

When true night fell he took first watch. At the edge of the camp he stood, facing out from atop the hill, letting the warmth of camaraderie envelop those who deserved it and exclude those who did not.

The next day dawned to a light rain. He dressed mechanically and let the chill of the rainwater soak into his bones.

As they made their way back to the road, he found himself wondering what exactly he would do once Ovelia was safely in Lionel. Stay on and guard her? Not if it meant joining St. Konoe, working for the royalty. Leave and seek a life elsewhere? To what end, and doing what? Delita had been right about him not having any skills but fighting. _Well, that's who I am now, anyway. Someone who fights. Someone who kills. I may as well keep at it, one way or another._

By midday he was squinting through the vertical drizzle at the distant Lionel Castle along with everyone else in the party. It lay perhaps a mile off, nestled among emerald hills, solid, blocklike and prosperous. A sodden red banner hung above it, its device hidden among motionless folds.

Beside him, Agrias exhaled in relief. "Just about there, Princess."

Ovelia smiled; her gloved hands tightened on the choco's reins. "I hope it's a nice place."

"It should be," mused Agrias, heading forward again. "It's well-built and has a history of--"

She trailed off as Ramza blocked her progress with an outstretched arm. He didn't bother to look at her, instead staring off towards the castle, thinking, ignoring the sudden glare on Alicia's freckled face.

The Holy Knight brushed his arm away. "What?"

"You shouldn't go in there," he realized aloud. Something was tickling his stomach, some vague worry.

She made a displeased sound, like an angry cat, and crossed plated arms over her chest. "Why the hell not?"

"Ovelia needs to stay outside of the castle for a little longer." Rainwater dripped into his eyes and he blinked it away. "At least until we can make sure Gafgarion isn't in there planning to kidnap or kill her. So you have to stay out here too to protect her."

"Yeah?" she muttered. "What's to say he isn't out here instead, waiting for us to split up?"

Ramza shook his head, finally turning to face her. "He likes ambushes. If he were shadowing us, there'd be too much of a risk of us noticing him. If he's decided on Lionel as the place to strike again, he's inside. If not, it doesn't matter."

The irritated anger clouding Agrias' face slowly gave way to an expression of thought, and eventually she offered a slow nod. "I... guess that makes sense." A few strands of golden hair lay slicked to her face. "Don't do anything stupid."

He shrugged. "You're a bodyguard. Guard bodies." Turning, he addressed his old friends. "Jasmine, Knox, Vector. Let's go. We'll be back when we learn something useful."

* * *

Hidden by the lip of a hill over a mile away, Delita smiled. Pulling the spyglass from his eyes, he took a moment to wipe off the rainwater beaded on the lens, then set the thing carefully back into its cedar case.

Beside him, Boyce stood at rigid attention, brown mustache bristling with martial pride. "Captain? What is it?" Even his voice befit a middling officer, brisk and barking.

"They've split up," he answered in a murmur, tucking the wooden case into a protective sleeve hanging from Ion's saddle. Pausing, he took a moment to make firm eye contact with each man in his squad; five pairs of eyes stared grimly back at him. "Quietly, now. And remember: she's not to be hurt."

* * *

"Alicia's kind of cute."

Letting his head thump back against the boulder, Ramza frowned up at the leaden sky, into the rain pushing his hair around and whispering into the long grass all around. "Alicia? She looks like she's... fourteen. Maybe."

Knox shrugged massive shoulders, chewing on a stalk of grass he'd plucked from the ground earlier. "In armor it's tough to tell. But I'm just talking about her face. I bet if she smiled she'd be really pretty."

Ramza gave his lips a twist. "Good luck with that."

Another shrug. "I'm not going to try it. I'm just observing." Knox paused, glancing off along the grassy slope. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You got your eye on any of them? The knights, I mean."

He shook his head. "I... don't really care about that stuff anymore, Knox."

The other man grunted. "It might help you, you know. Love can lift the spirit."

"My spirit's... not really the liftable type."

"I'm just saying, don't dismiss it out of hand." Knox pulled the stalk of grass from his mouth, frowned at it for a moment, then tossed it aside. "Lavian's pretty too."

Rolling his head along the surface of the boulder behind him, Ramza eyed the other man doubtfully. "What, nothing about Agrias?"

The knight paused, dark eyes sliding to meet his own, then made a sour face. "She's... a little intimidating."

Ramza blinked. "What? You could throw her a dozen paces, probably. In armor."

Knox lifted his eyebrows. "So?"

Gazing back across the motionless emerald grass, Ramza sighed. "You going to do anything this time, or just pine away again?"

"Ah. You know me too well."

Before he could respond, a rustle of clothing turned into Vector and Jasmine sliding into place from around the edge of the boulder. "Okay," sighed the man, frowning and running a hand through his hair. "We've checked the place out, and at the closest gate, the guards are just... gone. Nobody's there."

Ramza blinked, sitting upright to face his companions. "What do you mean, gone?"

Vector rolled his shoulders, then offered an apologetic smile. "I mean... gone? As in absent."

Jasmine grinned. "It's a tough concept to grasp, I know."

Ramza frowned at her for a moment, then climbed to his feet and stepped out from around the massive grey boulder jutting out from the side of the hill. Indeed, the castle gate stood silent and unmanned, an imposing granite monstrosity painted haphazardly with moss and twined with climbing vines. When he'd first seen it moments before, there hadn't been anyone atop it either, prompting him to hurry to concealment behind the rock, but he'd assumed the guards had simply stepped away for a moment or perhaps had been in the midst of switching. But this.... "It's just... empty?"

Wet rustling announced the others stepping to join him. "Yeah," confirmed Vector, bobbing his head in a too-deep nod. "The other gates are normal."

_This isn't right. But who cares? We need to get in there somehow._ "There's got to be a gate mechanism inside," he reasoned aloud. "I can climb the ivy over there and hop the wall, then get inside and let you guys in."

Knox and Vector exchanged uneasy glances. "That's dangerous, Ramza," warned Jasmine quietly.

He shrugged, setting off towards the wall. "I'll see you guys in a few moments."

* * *

"I can't believe we just have to _wait_ here in the rain. What an ass."

Agrias spared Alicia a withering glance, then frowned back up the hill where the mercenaries had disappeared a half-hour earlier. "You have a better idea?"

The younger woman sighed, then shook her head. "No. I just... I don't know. I don't want to rust."

Agrias smiled. "I think you'll be fine."

"How easily does armor rust?" asked Mustadio with a curious frown, glancing from face to face. "Isn't it a decent enough alloy to resist it, at least for a while?"

"It is," grinned Lavian. "Alicia just likes to complain." Ovelia giggled.

"Lavian, you can go to hell," muttered Alicia, tugging a shoulder plate into place as she scowled into the rain. "I'm not--"

Agrias blinked, then held up a hand, commanding silence. Head tilted, she glanced around and listened, waited. Long green grass lined the slopes all around, beaded with water. Clouds a grey shell above. No other people.

Something drew her eyes to the top of the nearest slope, a lumpy rise some fifty paces away to the west. Colorless rain hissed into the grass, plinked against metal. "We need to move from here," she decided softly.

The others shifted. "Why?" wondered Mustadio.

"Something isn't right." As she spoke, she craned her neck to peer all about; they were in the valley between three different hills, the better to avoid being seen, but it also limited their range of vision. "Move. To the north. There won't be...."

She trailed off with a sharp curse as three men on chocobo appeared in the valley to the north. At the same moment, another three topped the hill just above and to the west. _Shit. Nanten, here?_ All in white cloaks, all mounted. _Shit._ "Southeast! Go!" Obeying her own orders, she turned and bolted, sprinting through grass and little white wildflowers. "Move it!" The others followed suit without hesitation, thankfully, though Ovelia seemed to be having some difficulty making Merambors run as quickly as she wanted.

_That's not good._ Teeth bared, Agrias spared a glance back over her shoulder, only to find the Nanten riding hard, only twenty paces behind now, cloaks flaring, faces serious. _They're too fast on chocobo. We'll never outrun them._ Abruptly changing plans, she drew her sword and skidded to a halt on the wet ground, then turned to face the riders. "Ovelia, Mustadio, stay close but run if they're after you! We'll meet up with you later!"

Vaguely aware of Lavian and Alicia facing off against the attackers, Agrias waited with narrowed eyes, invoking a quick spell to protect herself. When the closest rider was ten paces away, she fired off a Stasis Sword; the attack flashed into place, dazing one man and his chocobo while merely injuring the other. Before she could do more than blink, however, the Nanten leader slashed his own sword at her in a familiar gesture.

Her eyes widened as the Crush Punch flared through her body, from surprise as much as pain. _Another Holy Knight? Damn it!_ He met her gaze for an instant as though confirming this, and she found herself memorizing his face: strong features, dark eyes and hair, a posture that radiated confidence.

Ignoring the man for the moment, she spun and launched another attack to catch two more Nanten, though neither fell and neither froze. As she grimaced, Alicia leapt into the air to bowl one knight from his saddle, while Lavian coolly cut the legs out from under the leader's bird. Two of the riders were ignoring the battle completely, instead heading for Mustadio and Ovelia.

_Shit. Too many, too strong, too fast._ She watched Ovelia, face pale and twisted with fear, snapping the reins to prompt Merambors into action, but the girl wasn't a skilled rider; one of the Nanten angled off to follow her, and would catch her in moments, while the other turned to hack at a running Mustadio.

_Shit._ Snarling, Agrias twisted and attacked the leader once more, who was just getting to his feet after the crippling of his mount; he was the most dangerous. A Split Punch tore into him, splattering him with blood, but the damnable fellow didn't go down, didn't even grunt. His counterattack dropped her to her knees, left her breath a rasping gurgle. Somewhere behind her, Alicia let out a choked cry, and something heavy hit the ground.

_Shit._ Clutching her sword more tightly, Agrias summoned what remained of her will for a final attack, but something heavy and sharp bit into her side from behind, driving her to the ground and filling her vision with stars.

Groaning, she tried to climb to her hands and knees, but there was blood in her mouth, too much blood. Her eyes wouldn't focus; her arms shook, then dropped her back to the ground. Awareness slipped away along with her breath.

* * *

Ramza slid from the castle's crenelations to its walkway, then paused to dust his hands off before turning to address the others down below. "Hang on. I'll open the gate."

"Not so fast!" bellowed a familiar voice from inside.

Shaking his head, Ramza turned back to see Gafgarion striding towards him from the keep. He'd expected to find the man here, but not quite so quickly. _Well, all the better if we can get back to the others faster._

"You made it this far, kid, but didn't notice the ambush. Good work." Gafgarion advanced to a point near the gate, then stopped and drew his sword. Back outside the castle, more footsteps and blades ringing free of their scabbards spoke to the arrival of the old mercenary's reinforcements. "You'll have to fight me, Ramza! Let's go!"

_Fair enough._ With a shrug, Ramza trotted over to a steep but climbable section of rocks, then hopped his way down to the ground. Gafgarion, the fool, waited for him to descend, and was rewarded for his patience by an overhead slash that left a dent in his shield.

The Dark Knight laughed, sidestepping and shuffling back. The pure glee of battle lit his lined features. "You could've been something, kid, but you're way too naive. Enjoy your trip to hell." His blade slashed down, summoning his signature attack.

Ramza gritted his teeth as the Night Sword tore through him but kept up his offensive. Gafgarion was good; whatever his shield didn't block, he parried. It was like fighting an impenetrable metal ball whose surface moved around to wherever attacks were coming in.

Another Night Sword flared through his body, up his spine, drawing an involuntary grunt out of his throat. Ramza hacked once more at the man, only to see his blade rebound. _Damn it. I've seen him fight a hundred times._ Growling, he dove to one side, past Gafgarion, then rolled to his knees with a wicked backhanded slash; the other man merely sidestepped it, though, pausing to kick his head in passing for good measure.

Ramza stumbled to his feet, shaking his head to clear it. In his moment of distraction another attack lanced through him, clenching his muscles, curling his toes. His arms were leaden now, his feet made of stone; the Night Swords were working, draining away his will to live, such as it was.

_He has weak spots, for heaven's sake._ Another slash clanged off the man's shield. _He gets hurt all the time when we fight. How do I... ah. Of course._

With his breath now rasping through a throat gone rusty and dry, Ramza stepped up his offensive, letting his slashes bounce off of the other man's defenses. There was next to no way he'd even scratch Gafgarion like this; he didn't have the skill. But then, he didn't have to. The Dark Knight was only protecting his person, not his equipment.

Finally an opening presented itself, a shield block that left Gafgarion's sword hanging a little too high. Ramza wasted no time sliding forward, slashing up. The older man's sword shattered into countless metal fragments.

As Gafgarion blinked at what remained of his hilt, Ramza slashed down, at the man's legs, and let a panicked shield block push his sword away. While his enemy was doubled over to preserve his limbs, Ramza punched him in the face.

Gafgarion wheeled backwards, arms flailing, blood painting his nose and lips. Ramza stepped up his attack while the man's posture was still open; one slash cut him across the arm, while another followed in a blink, scraping up his armor before biting into that smug face.

The Dark Knight let out a choked grunt at this, clutching his face. Blood leaked freely between his fingers. "Ramza," he grated. "You'll--"

Ramza didn't let him finish. One slice into his neck dropped the man like a sack of stones.

Panting, Ramza planted hands on his knees and watched the pool of blood spread outward from Gafgarion, inching along the neatly-worked stone pathway. Then, with a grimace, he hacked into the body again, and again; he needed the crystal, and couldn't wait for the old bastard to bleed out.

Shortly his efforts proved fruitful as the Dark Knight puffed into a clear gem. Exhaling raggedly, he reached for it, then threw his head back while the storm of restoration hit him.

Afterwards he snapped his eyes back open, then turned and ran for the gate. The wooden lever took both hands to pull, and when it thunked into place the portcullis began to grind its way up.

Once it was a pace off the ground, he ducked under it and hurried outside. His people were still fighting, he saw; Knox was single-handedly battling off the attention of a knight and two archers, while Jasmine and Vector had teamed up to keep another pair of knights and a summoner at bay. None looked particularly healthy.

Without hesitation Ramza sprinted past his friends, through the battle, and leapt to tackle the summoner. The man let out a cry of surprise before the both of them crashed into puddles and hard stone.

_No armor... no shield... easy._ Ramza grappled briefly with the robed man, using his greater weight and equipment to assume a dominant position, then hacked down with all his strength. Bone cracked; blood sprayed. Another slash nearly severed the spellcaster's head from his body.

Spitting out the taste of warm copper, he climbed to his feet, but not before somebody's sword found its way into his right thigh. Growling, he spun awkwardly about to face a knight, a woman. His own blood ran down the edge of her weapon, pushed about by falling rain.

_Damn it. Careless._ Dancing forward, he let her attack again so he could twist into the strike, then drove an elbow into her jaw and followed it with a backhanded slash at her temple. More blood sprayed and the woman screamed, but she remained standing. One entire half of her face was a mass of crimson now, and her lips peeled back in a fearsome grimace.

She attacked before he could, raining furious blows down on him from every angle. He blocked them without trouble -- she was agitated, fighting without calculation -- and shortly tired of being on the defensive. After one downward slice bounced wide from his shield, he slid to his knees right next to the woman and stabbed up, under her breastplate, into her ribs.

The knight gasped wetly but still didn't drop. Face tight, Ramza freed his weapon, then sank it into her again. This time she fell.

Wiping blood from his face, he stood and whirled, scanning the battlefield. Then he relaxed. Knox was just hacking down the last crippled archer, and Jasmine was tending to a fallen Vector. All the enemies were already down.

Shaking his head, Ramza trotted over to where Vector was just regaining consciousness, but spoke to everyone. "I guess we've done what we came here for."

Knox limped over, throwing him a questioning glance. "You killed Gafgarion?" Blood soaked the entire right half of his body, but he wasn't missing anything important.

Ramza nodded. "Yeah. Forget waiting for crystals; there'll be reinforcements here too soon. Jasmine, can you heal Vector well enough for him to walk?"

The woman hesitated, liquid dark eyes gazing sideways at him from where she knelt. "It'll take a moment, but I can."

"Good. Knox, carry him, if you would, until she can get the spell off." Ramza waited, lips thinned, while the hulking knight bent to heave the other man over his shoulder, then nodded again. "Let's go. I'm already tired of this place."


	4. Allegory of the Cave

_Meditation on inevitable death should be performed daily. Every day when one's body and mind are at peace, one should meditate upon being ripped apart by arrows, rifles, spears and swords, being carried away by surging waves, being thrown into the midst of a great fire, being struck by lightning, being shaken to death by a great earthquake, falling from thousand-foot cliffs, dying of disease or committing seppuku at the death of one's master. And every day without fail one should consider himself as dead.  
_-- Yamamoto Tsunetomo, _Hagakure_

Chapter Four: Allegory of the Cave

"Stop it! Let go!" Ovelia struggled to pull Merambors away from the knight at her side, but the man had gripped her reins; it wasn't going to work.

"We're not going to kill you," growled the knight, tugging her snapping bird back towards the others with obvious difficulty. "Just shut up already."

"No! Let go!" The others were already down, she saw; Lavian, the last on her feet, was just now toppling limply to the ground. She was covered in blood. All of them were, even Mustadio. _No! Not again!_ "Let go of me!"

Another man appeared from somewhere, wearing much better armor. "Giving you trouble, eh?"

The other knight grunted. "Only a little, Captain."

The captain sighed. "Just shut your trap, Highness. You're going to be fine."

"No! Let go of me! Agrias!" She bared her teeth, tugging at the reins.

"Suit yourself." As he spoke, the captain drove a mailed fist into her middle.

Ovelia slumped bonelessly forward in the saddle, coughing. Rain pattered against her cheek as she gasped for breath. The way her head happened to be lying, she was staring straight at the bloodied mess of Agrias' still form.

She swallowed with effort. Though she couldn't speak, could barely breathe, she could still cast one of the simple spells she knew. A moment of foggy concentration; a wave of a finger. Something sparkled around the Holy Knight, which the Nanten didn't notice with their backs to the fallen as they were.

Before she could recover, Merambors bolted into motion along with the other knights. They were taking her to... where? Why? She couldn't think straight, couldn't reason.

Another bout of ragged coughing seized her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she clutched at her stomach and pressed her forehead against her mount's golden feathers, and waited to see what grim fate would befall her.

* * *

Agrias awoke with a gasp. Her face was in the mud, and a splitting headache pulsed through her skull with every heartbeat. Groaning, she planted hands on the ground and pushed herself up to a seated position. Steady rain murmured into the surrounding grass, trickled down the back of her neck.

She was still on the hill, she saw. The Nanten were just now disappearing around a curve of a nearby hill towards the castle. With Ovelia.

Shaking her head, she took quick stock of her surroundings. Everyone was down, of course, but at least nobody had crystalized. Who'd fallen first? It was... Alicia.

Ignoring the pain lancing through every limb, she climbed to her feet, then hurried to the redhead's body. A few murmured words of prayer, and then a ghostly white orb floated down from the heavens and into Alicia.

The girl thrashed about, then froze, blinking. Agrias left without a word of explanation, scrambling instead to where Lavian lay in a pool of blood. Another spell served to tug her away from the waiting jaws of death.

Face tight in fear, she darted to Mustadio and started a third spell... but then stopped. She couldn't do it. Too many already today; she was drained, unable to concentrate. Her eyes widened in helpless horror as she gazed down at the young man choking on his own blood.

Mustadio stared wildly back up, barely alive, probably not seeing her at all. One hand fumbled under his coat, then shortly came out with a glittering yellow stone. "T... Taurus," he whispered.

Agrias clutched the stone with one hand, then gripped his shoulder with the other. "Mustadio, hold on. I know I've got a phoenix down somewhere. I...." Swallowing, she released him to grab at the pouch at her waist. She knew she had nothing of the sort -- she never carried a chemist's scrip -- but maybe somehow one had gotten in there. Maybe one of the--

"Taurus," repeated the mechanic; blood bubbled between his lips and he coughed, eyes squeezed shut, unable to rise from the ground. One hand gripped her own, pushing the stone into her palm, closing her fingers over it. "St... keep... father...."

Forgetting her belt pouch, she gripped his shoulder once more. "Mustadio, hang on! We'll... Alicia! Lavian! Phoenix down, _now!_"

"Ovelia had them," answered Lavian; her voice was raspy, quiet. "On the chocobo." Her face was blank; beside her, Alicia stared bleakly at the ground.

Agrias stared at her subordinate for a moment, then returned her helpless attention to Mustadio. He stared up, meeting her gaze; fear was written clearly in his dark eyes. He didn't want to die.

His lips moved once more but without sound, the words audible only in his dying mind. Then his face went slack; his hand dropped to the ground.

Agrias, paralyzed, continued to stare into his unmoving eyes, continued to grip his shoulder. Rain whispered into the grass, trickled across her skin like an icy caress.

Soon Mustadio vanished into a cold anonymous crystal rotating slowly on the ground. Lips parting, Agrias regarded it for a numb moment, then stared down at the golden gem glittering in her hand.

* * *

"They must have fought here," decided Vector, squatting on his heels in the long grass, frowning at the ground. "There's blood all over and I can see chocobo tracks everywhere. More than just Merambors would make."

Ramza frowned at the ground as well. He had little skill in tracking but that much was clear even to him. "Can you tell which way they went?"

Vector's face screwed up in thought and he sucked air through his teeth. "Looks like...." Chewing a lip, he glanced to one side, then stood and fluffed a few paces through the wet grass, never taking his eyes off the ground. "Looks like... the people on foot headed north, over here. The riders went back that way, kind of towards the castle."

"Towards the castle," repeated Ramza, turning in place to stare back through the hills. Falling rain hazed the more distant slopes into a formless pallor.

Jasmine shifted beside him. "The Princess and the others must have gone off on foot. We only had the one choco."

He gave her a flat stare, and after a moment she smiled and glanced away.

Before he could speak, however, Vector cleared his throat. "There, uh, _are _no chocobo tracks with the group that left on foot. And it's tough to say, but I think there were only three sets of tracks."

"So two people died," concluded Ramza, shifting his gaze to the blood on the ground. "Or got captured." _Ovelia. They took Ovelia._

A brief silence met this statement. Eventually Knox turned to peer northward through the rain. "The survivors left on foot this way?"

"Yeah."

Almost before he was done speaking, Knox was moving, striding grimly along the hillside, following the tracks. Ramza was there as well, and after a moment the other two caught up.

The trail wound between hills rather than over them; the others must have been trying to avoid notice. Vector stopped on occasion to ensure he hadn't lost the trail. When that happened, Ramza waited patiently. The rain continued, and nobody spoke.

Perhaps an hour later they found Agrias, Lavian and Alicia huddled under the branches of a lone cedar tree, covered in blood. Jasmine gasped at the sight, then hurried forward, awkwardly unslinging the scrip from her shoulder as she ran. Shortly an armful of potions found their way to everyone who needed them.

Once the knights were back to health, Ramza fixed Agrias with a stare. "What happened?"

She met his gaze without blinking. "Nanten attacked, led by another Holy Knight. They killed Mustadio and took Ovelia."

Jasmine gasped again; Vector sighed sadly while Knox merely shook his head. Ramza just stared back at Agrias before nodding. "They took her to the castle, then?"

"Probably. We didn't track them." Agrias sighed, slumping; suddenly she looked weary, defeated. Blue eyes stared grimly at the distant grass. "We screwed up. _I_ screwed up. I should have had us stay somewhere higher where we could see people coming. I... was hoping to stay hidden, but this... I wasn't thinking straight, I guess."

Ramza frowned. "How many were there?"

"Nanten? Six."

"On chocobo."

"Yeah."

"Then it wouldn't have mattered," he decided, wiping rainwater from his face. "They'd have caught you anyway."

"I suppose." Her voice was little more than a whisper; golden hair lay slicked against her bloody angel-face. She still wouldn't meet his gaze.

Ramza felt his jaw tighten. "Pull yourself together. Did you know the other Holy Knight? The one attacking you?"

She blinked, then directed a hard stare at him, sapphire eyes cold and sharp. Silence stretched for a moment before she spoke. "No." Her tone was measured, her temper obviously under very tenuous control. "The Nanten are totally separate from St. Konoe. He looked young, though. Maybe your age."

He twisted his lips, glancing briefly at the other two knights, who simply scowled back at him; they were probably upset at his rudeness to their commander. "Mustadio, then. What happened?"

Agrias gave her head a slow shake, but her eyes still bored into his own. "They took us all down, actually, but I woke up shortly after. I think Ovelia did something to help me. I could save Lavian and Alicia but not him. I was right next to him when he died. Touching him."

Ramza nodded. "What of his father?"

"I don't know." The Holy Knight's brow furrowed for a moment and she reached into her coat, shortly coming out with a yellow crystal he'd seen only once before. "He said something about his father, then gave this to me, right before he died."

_Someone's holding him hostage. Using him to control someone else's behavior. Just like...._ Exhaling slowly, Ramza forced his fists to relax. For now. "Then... we'll get Ovelia back, get answers from Cardinal Draclau, and then get Mustadio's father back."

A brief silence met this. Eventually Agrias shifted, frowning. "I'm... not even sure where to start with that," she murmured, brushing hair back from her face. "What do you mean, get answers from the Cardinal?"

_Oh. Right._ "Gafgarion was waiting for us just inside the castle gates. He'd set up an ambush... and it was obviously sanctioned by someone inside, because he was there in place of the gate guards. So given that, and given that the other Holy Knight probably took the Princess into the castle as well, you have Draclau working with both the Hokuten and Nanten. What's he doing? It seems shady."

Agrias offered a slow nod. "That's... true," she acknowledged. "But what about Mustadio's father? Why would we do anything about that? It's not St. Konoe's job to rescue everyone."

He gave her a cold stare, hoping his disgust didn't show too much on his face. "Then I'll do it. If you don't want to help, you don't have to."

She just stared back at him without expression, eyes gemlike and glittering. After a moment, Lavian stepped forward, smiling nervously. "Let's just... do one thing at a time, shall we? We don't even know that Ovelia's been taken into Lionel."

Agrias exhaled briskly, giving herself a little shake. "True. Is everyone healthy enough to travel quickly?"

Several heads glanced about in question but no one spoke. Agrias nodded. "Okay. Let's head back to where we fought, and pick up the trail there."

For the next hour they backtracked to the site of the battle, and from there Vector led the winding way towards Lionel Castle. Conversation proved sparse and the rain continued, growing neither heavier nor lighter. Not a single other person was in evidence anywhere among the green and rolling hills.

When late afternoon rolled around, Ramza found himself standing a quarter-mile from the castle's small eastern gate. Just before the squarish opening in the walls, the grass had been trampled by generations of feet and claws into a makeshift dirt path, punctuated here and there by persistent weeds, though today the rain had turned the dirt to mud. Above, a pair of red-cloaked guards watched them without obvious concern.

"That's where they went," sighed Vector, slicking hair back from his face. "Probably... I don't know. Not too long ago."

Agrias frowned, then turned towards Ramza. "You want to go in now? Or at all?"

He blinked. _She's asking me?_ "Tomorrow," he decided. "If they meant to kill Ovelia they'd have done so back on the hill, so she's probably still alive. We'll all be a little more useful in there if we've slept some, maybe cleaned up a bit." Certainly requesting an audience with the Cardinal while splattered in blood would raise some eyebrows.

"Useful," repeated Agrias after a moment, fingering the hilt of her blade. "You're thinking we'll have to fight in there."

"I would imagine so." If Draclau was sheltering both the squad that had attacked him and those who'd attacked Agrias, then trusting the man's goodwill would be an exercise in madness.

The Holy Knight swayed in a silent chuckle. "Think they'll even let us in?"

"Yeah." Draclau would probably be too polite to refuse them entry outright.

"Alright." Agrias pressed one fist into the opposite palm, cracking knuckles, then reversed the gesture. "Let's get some rest before we storm this place, huh?"

* * *

After cleaning up and tending to his equipment and injuries, Delita strode through Lionel Castle towards a place underneath it. The Nanten cape clasped around his neck flared behind his ankles with every step, snowy and white even after weeks of travel and a few battles. As he walked, servants and even a few soldiers pressed themselves against the hard stone walls to give him room to pass. This sort of respect was a new thing to him, but neither unwelcome nor unexpected. He ignored those he passed in any case.

A narrow spiraling stair led him down, underground. Shadows danced on the walls with his motion, inky silhouettes cast from a handful of flickering lanterns, and his footsteps rang hollowly in the tight space.

Once to the level of the dungeons he angled off, onto a broad landing of dark stone, where a single guard nodded at him. Delita nodded in return, then strode right past the man, down a hallway towards where his captive awaited. The door to the cell stood as thick as a wall, oak banded with age-tarnished steel. It could contain an angry bear without trouble, let alone a caged bird.

Pausing to fit the key -- he'd made sure to "acquire" one -- into the lock, he twisted, then heaved the door open. The hinges creaked only faintly at his entry; apparently the Church kept its detention cells well-maintained. The thought brought a small smile to his face.

Ovelia Atkascha glanced up at his entry, face weary, brown eyes empty and resigned. Some flicker of recognition crossed her features, but it quickly disappeared as she lowered her gaze back to the floor. "You."

"Yes. Me." Heeling the door shut behind him, he stepped to meet her, stopping just outside of her reach. The light from the single lantern Draclau had provided for her painted a monstrous shadow of his form on the side wall.

The princess stirred without looking up. "You punched me. You killed my friends." Her voice was a mere whisper, nearly inaudible.

He chuckled. "Hardly. I would imagine they're still alive. Did you think I wasn't aware of that little spell you fired off?"

She froze, then lifted her head. Wide honey-colored eyes, now haunted, afraid, met his gaze.

"The report said you were a little dim," he continued, tugging gloves off and tucking them under his belt, "but it seems it was mistaken. You do have a clever streak in you. I applaud both your concern and your inventiveness."

Ovelia sighed, letting her eyes slide back shut, then sagged again. Heavy iron chains clinked together with the motion. "What do you want?"

"I came to see how you were." He spread his hands, a gesture she would interpret as sincerity. "Are you well? Any injuries from your abduction? If so I will have a chemist sent to tend to you."

Her lips curled. "I'm fine... except where you hit me."

He shrugged. She'd get over it. "You haven't eaten, though, I see." The plate of food Draclau's people had given her sat untouched in the corner, a chunk of bread, some ham, an apple. "That won't keep for long."

She shook her head but didn't answer. Long blond hair swayed with the gesture, whispering on the edge of hearing.

"Oh, come now. What is this? You struggled to avoid being captured, but now you won't eat? Do you think we'll let you starve yourself to death?"

"I'm not hungry."

Delita paused, studying the girl. Hair the color of spun gold; a slender, almost petite frame her layers of red-and-white clothing didn't totally obscure. She still wasn't meeting his gaze. _Is she really this mild? I thought they were exaggerating._ Perhaps a different approach would be in order.

Before he could find one, however, she lifted her head to stare, if not at his eyes, at least at his chin. "What do you want with me?"

"I want for you what _you_ should want for you." He crossed arms over his chest. "You should be where you belong, where you were born to be. Not rotting in a cell. Don't you think?"

"Somewhere I belong," she whispered. Soft brown eyes slid up to meet his own. "You want to use me, don't you? You can't make me go along with it."

He shrugged again. "Yes I can, if you want to live." _God. Teta would kill me if she knew I was threatening a girl like this._ His lips thinned, but there was no taking the words back.

Ovelia stiffened. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He tilted his head in consideration before answering. "It means...."

The door hinges protested behind him again, and he trailed off, turning around. Cardinal Draclau and Vormav Tingel strode into the cell, not even bothering to close the door afterwards. Delita eyed the pair, then edged aside to give them room in front of the princess.

The two men shuffled to a halt in front of the chained girl. Draclau, of course, looked bland and subdued as ever, though Vormav's lips were pursed in thought. "So," nodded the Shrine Knight after a moment. "This is Ovelia?"

Draclau grunted in agreement. "How are you, Princess? I trust the chill here isn't getting to you?"

Ovelia didn't answer. Wary brown eyes flickered from one face to another, waiting.

"Hmm." Vormav's glittering dark eyes examined the girl as another man might a horse. "She's almost too good a substitute for a princess."

Ovelia blinked, then froze, eyes wide and focused on the Shrine Knight.

Draclau shook with a low chuckle. "Vormav, she doesn't know yet." His voice, a quiet rumble, was nevertheless as cultured as it was soft.

"Ah," breathed Vormav. "Poor girl."

Finally Ovelia managed to recover herself. "What... what are you talking about?"

Vormav shook his head. "Listen. You're not Ovelia."

The girl jerked back in surprise. "What...?"

"The real princess died long ago," continued the knight, idly resting folded hands atop the handle of his blade. "You're a substitute."

Ovelia stared at him for a moment before her face contorted into a black scowl. "No! That's a lie!"

"It's not a lie," countered Vormav evenly. "You're not Ovelia. The old Senators who didn't care much for Ruvelia made you, so someday you'd succeed her. A convenient 'illness' disposed of the two older princes, and then you were adopted as the Princess; Omdolia was too weak to sire another child, you see, so you would take the throne. But then Orinas came along anyway. Even now it's impossible to say whether he's really Omdolia's son, as Larg may have had 'seeds' planted to make his sister the next King's mother. But anyway, the Senators' plan fell apart and you are the debris."

Ovelia's lips peeled back from her teeth. "You're lying! I don't believe you!"

Vormav shrugged, unconcerned. "Whether you believe or not, or whether you're really Ovelia or not, hardly matters. What does matter is that everyone believes you _are_ Ovelia."

The girl simply stared at him for a moment, brow furrowed in an accusatory glare. Eventually she swallowed; lines of tension stood out on her jaw from the effort of clenching her teeth. "What do you want with me?"

Vormav lifted dark eyebrows. "Nothing. Just be a princess, as you are now."

Ovelia flinched at the word _princess_ and hissed, teeth bared. "My ancestors were Atkaschas! No one can control me!"

"What would you even do, away from us?" wondered Vormav blandly. "If you went to Larg, he'd kill you, right? He already tried, with Gafgarion. All we want is to help you take the throne."

The girl slumped, rubbing a shaking hand down her face. "Who... who are you, anyway?"

Lamplight flickering on the hard lines of Vormav's face revealed nothing. "We're neither allies of Larg nor supporters of Goltana. Just... collaborators."

Draclau shifted, stuffing thick fists into some hidden folds in his robes. "Vormav, let her calm down. Once she's had some time to think, she won't refuse our help."

Vormav's lips compressed into a thin line, but after a moment he nodded. "Of course. You're right."

Without another word the Cardinal turned and began shuffling back towards the door. Vormav followed and spoke over his shoulder. "Let's go, Delita!"

Frowning, Delita spun on his heel and trotted after the other man, but something tugged at his awareness, a feeling as old as time, the sensation of being watched. Near the door he slowed, then turned half-around.

Ovelia was staring after him, he saw, eyebrows raised, shoulders slumped, posture wilted. Lines of tension around her mouth, her glistening eyes, suggested she was doing her best not to collapse into tears. Her gaze clung to him as a drowning woman would to a floating chunk of wood, and she said nothing, only stared.

Delita stared back. He could read her like a book; she wanted desperately to believe that her captors were human, that they were men with something like hearts in their chests. It would give her something to rely on, the belief that she wasn't in a totally stark and merciless position, one governed only by the logic of aspiring empire. She was a lost child in a foreign world. It still pained him, having to threaten her, and though it would hurt his position to apologize, the desperate fear in her eyes tugged at the levers that moved his heart.

Eventually he offered a slow nod, maintaining eye contact. She continued to stare at him, owlishly, but some of the tightness disappeared from her face.

Without speaking he turned and strode out of the chamber, locking the door shut behind him, and hurried to catch up to Vormav. There was much to do yet.

* * *

Agrias stared thoughtfully at the north gate of Lionel Castle as they approached it. A night's sleep, a little water to wash the worst of travel and battle from their clothes, and everyone was as presentable as they'd need to be to speak with the Cardinal. Or fight his people. Whichever turned out to be the case.

_Fight him. This is insane._ Ramza was right, though; it did make a rash sort of sense, just walking right in there and seeking an audience with a man who might well be an enemy. Certainly it was a better option than returning to Lesalia empty-handed and asking for another mission. _Hey, sorry about the whole Ovelia thing. There someone else you want me to guard?_

As she walked, a feather-light mist tickled her face, her eyes. It wasn't raining hard enough to make anything wetter than it already was, but nothing would get dry. As it had for the past few days, water beaded on the vegetation all around, serving somehow to make the grass an even brighter green that it would have been in sunlight. Above, the sky was nothing but a fuzzy shell of grey.

With only two hundred paces of open road remaining before the blocky gates, she sighed and poked Ramza's shoulder. "I know you think the Cardinal will grant us an audience, but I have to say I'm not convinced."

The sellsword shifted without tearing his honey-brown eyes from the gate ahead. "Between you and me, we have enough name recognition to get in."

Agrias opened her mouth, then closed it again with a frown. After a moment she grunted, eyeing him sideways. "Why? I'm St. Konoe; what are you?"

Ramza shuffled along without a reply for a few more steps before slowing to a halt in the muddy road. A strange expression, halfway between confusion and thought, crossed his features as he turned to face her, dark eyes unreadable. Eventually his lips twisted. "I'm a Beoulve."

She blinked. "A Be... wait. As in _the_ Beoluve family?"

He nodded. Off to one side, Alicia and Lavian stared at him, hard, but the other mercenaries simply watched on with vague curiosity. They'd known before, then. Of course.

Agrias sighed again. "Alright, fine. So we have a Beoulve and one of the Princess's bodyguards. I'm not sure if that makes us more or less likely to get an audience with the Cardinal."

Ramza shrugged. "Who cares? Our only other option is hacking our way in there and interrogating him."

"Which it might come to anyway," she murmured, turning and heading towards the gates again. _A Beoulve._ "You... must have been trying to escape your name, then. Why change that now?"

"We need to get in there." His voice was soft, as usual, as though speaking above a whisper was simply too much effort. "She needs us." His boots squished through the mud beside her own with every step.

"Yeah. Fair enough." Agrias shook her head helplessly as they continued their way through the misting rain.

In short moments they reached the gate and walked right through, into the city. At an hour past daybreak, the place was already as busy as any other city she'd ever seen, a bustling maze of stone-paved streets, noisy, pushing crowds and a mix of scents combining to wrinkle one's nose. If the rain deterred any of the locals from their business, she saw no sign of it.

It took some time, perhaps a quarter-hour, to elbow through the masses to the gate of the keep proper, a gaping hole in the moss-fuzzed wall with another steel portcullis for teeth. Before it a half-dozen guards stood at attention, crisply-clad in the red-and-white of Lionel, fingering their weapons as they eyed Agrias and her companions with vague suspicion.

She nodded and stepped forward before they could send her off somewhere. "I'm Agrias Oaks of the Lesalia St. Konoe," she began, staring without blinking at the oldest-looking fellow, "and this is Ramza Beoulve, of Igros. We seek to speak with the Cardinal on a matter of urgency."

The soldier's eyebrows climbed at this, and he exchanged a glance with a shorter man next to him. After a moment the second nodded seriously. "Wait here, if you would. We will inform the Cardinal."

* * *

Ovelia sat in the depths, alone.

Hands tucked under her arms against the dank chill, she sat curled into a ball in the corner, staring with unfocused eyes at the jittering shadow her plate of uneaten food cast along the slimy floor. The lamp was running low on oil, making the flame flicker and the shadow dance, but it was motion and as such it drew her fuzzy attention. She'd been watching the shadow so long it seemed almost... more real than the thing casting it. More familiar, at least.

She hadn't slept well, if at all. In a way it was hard to tell; hours blurred together in this place, and if she had any dreams, they were dreams of sitting in a damp cell. Weariness tugged at her eyelids, a gentle but insistent prompting, but sleeping would mean shifting positions, which would make her cold again.

In truth, some objective part of her mind could understand why she was here. Historically in Ivalice, imprisoning political enemies, or even dangerous allies, was hardly uncommon, and while there was nothing saying Draclau had to keep her in a dank underground cell, things could have been much worse.

_They want me to be the queen._ But that didn't make sense. There was already both a king and a queen. Though of course Omdolia's health always made his future uncertain, Ruvelia was still young enough to expect a long reign ahead of her. _Unless they mean to... no, but how could they? They'd never... unless...._ She frowned momentarily before letting the expression fade. She was too tired to think straight, and didn't know enough in any case, about either the situation in general, or her captors specifically.

She could still hardly believe a man of the cloth was dabbling so in politics, that someone in Glabados Church wanted to manipulate the growth of the royal family tree, maybe prune a few branches. Those keeping her hadn't identified themselves openly, at least not their allegiance or aims, but it was hard not to notice some things. Draclau, of course, was a cardinal. Vormav... she thought he was a Shrine Knight, or maybe one of those Knight Blades. But both were Church men. And Delita was... she wasn't entire sure what he was. Clearly working for the Church, at least, if not actively a member of it. He looked like a Nanten officer, though why he would be in Lionel, conspiring with the Church... none of it made any sense.

But then, he seemed different from the others. She couldn't put her finger on it, exactly, but Delita was just... made of a different sort of metal than the Church men, perhaps. He was obviously a hard man, a strong man, but also possibly... a good one? _Or am I just seeing what I want to?_

She gave her lips a brief twist. It seemed doubtful she had much choice in the matter, no matter what Draclau said, but if she chose to accept their 'help'... she would miss Agrias. The Holy Knight, while sometimes a little direct, even intimidating, was at least approachable. Trustworthy. Sort of like Simon. _Although... could she still guard me, afterwards? Is she enemies with Lionel now, or the Nanten or whomever? Or could she just stay with me without any problems?_ Again drowsiness fogged her reasoning, but there was also the simple problem that she just didn't _know_ enough about the world to make decisions about it. She'd been watching shadows for most of her life now. Never the things actually doing things, actually blocking the sunlight in the first place, just their shadows on peaceful monastery walls, in dusty old books.

A metallic rattle drew her eyes to the door. A moment later, something clunked, and then the door squeaked open to admit Delita, armored, cloaked and intent like the portrait of some great general.

As he closed the door and strode in her direction, she lowered her eyes. Air stirred in the cell, bringing faint goosebumps to her arms.

"You still haven't eaten." His voice betrayed none of the displeasure he likely felt.

Ovelia shook her head but didn't answer. The emptiness in her stomach was little more than a queasy irritant.

Delita waited before speaking again. "So. Have you made up your mind yet? Will you accept our help?"

Despite herself she shifted, glancing to the side, away from the flickering lamp. Simon had been gently but firmly against superstition of all types, but some remained tucked away in her mind from... somewhere, sometime long ago. The breath of a ghost wouldn't fog a mirror. If you slept with a cat on your chest, it could steal your soul during the night. An unnatural creature in disguise would betray its nature through its shadow.

Delita's shadow twitched and jumped just like a shadow should, and it looked just like the man casting it, if distorted by distance and angles. _Of course it does,_ she sighed. _That's what shadows do._ It was absurd, thinking so, silly and childish, but nevertheless something inside her relaxed.

Shifting her gaze to the man himself, she stared into eyes a shade darker than her own... and found her breath catching. Though he was just standing there without expression, there was something about him, something... the force of his personality, she decided. It filled the room. Flowed out from him like an invisible force, threatening to slam her back against the wall.

With effort she managed to tear her eyes from his. _Who's less scary? Him or Ramza?_ She swallowed, staring again at the shadow of her food. "What... what do you want?"

"I told you," he murmured, completely at ease. "I just want to put you on the throne."

Ovelia compressed her lips, glancing back up at the man. "I just... who are you with? Who are you?"

Delita blinked; she had the impression he was somehow taken aback, though his face didn't show it. His brow furrowed, a noble and pensive expression, and from time to time his mouth twitched as though he were struggling not to say something. Eventually his eyes tightened, boring into her own. "I don't want you to be anybody's puppet," he answered quietly. "Let's just leave it at that."

Ovelia nodded weakly, trapped by his gaze. It filled up her vision, drowned out the rest of the room, even his own person, as though he spoke not as a representative of the Church or the Nanten, but as a man. "If... if I... accepted your help... what would happen?"

"We'd leave here," he answered without hesitation, advancing a step closer. "Go to Zeltennia. Goltana is your ally; he has his own way of doing things but he wants you on the throne, just like you and I do. He'll take Ruvelia out of the picture without even killing her, and then that's it. Everything's ready for you."

She licked her lips. "But... Larg wouldn't allow that."

"Of course not." He spoke intently now, fiercely, though his voice remained low; dark eyes seized her and gripped her, like fists. "You're a gem, Ovelia. A precious diamond like no other. No matter what you do, men will kill each other in countless thousands trying to get their hands on you, trying to control you. Don't you think the best course of action is to choose your own fate? Claim the throne as quickly as you can to keep the inevitable bloodshed to a minimum?"

_It makes sense._ She swallowed. _I just want to help Ivalice, and this... maybe he's right._ "Would... would Draclau come to Zeltennia? Vormav?"

Delita shook his head once. "Draclau has duties here, and Vormav is too busy to stay in one place for more than a week or two. You'd never have to see either of them again."

"Okay." Something fluttered in her stomach, a thrill of... fear? Excitement? "Let's do it. I'll help you."

Her captor quirked a lopsided grin. "Good. I was hoping you'd say that, actually. Turns out there's a... situation. We need to leave right away for Zeltennia."

"A situation?" She chewed a lip, suddenly uncertain.

"Oh, don't worry." He waved a carefree hand. "Just someone trying to storm the castle."

"Storm it?" she repeated, startled. "Who?"

Delita's smile grew fond. "An old friend of mine."

* * *

Ramza followed a soft-spoken priest called de Verca through the castle. The man walked slowly, sedately, hands folded behind his back as though he were perpetually in deep contemplation of God's will. It was all Ramza could do not to stride past him and find his own way to the Cardinal's office.

Agrias walked beside him, pale face cool and unruffled despite whatever worries she might be harboring. Behind her trooped the rest of their companions, Alicia and Lavian, Jasmine and Vector and Knox, all clinking along in armor, bristling with weapons.

It was strange, to be sure, that Draclau was apparently planning to meet all of them in the privacy of his office, without concern for his own safety. Was he unworried because his will was good and there'd be no need for more aggressive questions on their part? Or was it going to be another trap? Maybe with someone a little more skilled than Gafgarion? The Cardinal had fought in the war; surely, if he wanted to, he could pull up some old friends to cause some damage.

Ramza compressed his lips and discarded his doubts. Whatever happened, either he'd get what he wanted or he'd die. In neither case would he have to worry.

Somewhere near the top of the keep de Verca finally shuffled to a sage halt, then gestured at a solid oak door. A plain brown monastic goatee covered his lips and chin, but it was as neatly-trimmed and cared-for as any noble might wear. "The Cardinal's office, if you please," he whispered, folding his hands once more with a practiced smoothness. "He is waiting."

Nodding curtly, Ramza pushed open the door and strode into the room, leaving the pretentious priest in the hallway. His companions followed.

Cardinal Draclau's office was... he supposed the word for it was "dark." Despite a handful of narrow windows in the walls, the place just gave off an impression of heaviness, or gravity. Perhaps a consequence of the decoration, blocky wooden boxes in the back of the room, stark grey rock forming bare and unfurnished walls. The Cardinal himself, just now rising from behind a wooden table, was no exception; he boasted humorless garments of grey and violet, and a silvery mustache and angled eyebrows gave the impression of a man vaguely displeased with something.

He nodded politely, however, as everyone filed into his chamber. "What did you want?"

Agrias spoke up before Ramza could. "Where is Ovelia?"

"She left," answered the Cardinal in a quiet rumble. "She chose our help over yours. Why?"

Ramza stepped forward. "I don't believe you. Why are you playing both sides of the war?"

Draclau lifted his eyebrows. "War?"

Ramza nodded. "Goltana against Larg. You're helping both sides. What are you doing?"

"I see no war," countered the holy man slowly. "I see only a political struggle. The Church is simply attempting to stay neutral."

"Usually neutrality means not participating," noted Ramza tightly. "Not getting involved with every possible side."

Draclau shrugged heavy shoulders. "I don't have time for this. I'll ask you again: what do you want?"

Ramza hesitated, catching Agrias' eye, and the Holy Knight nodded. "I'm of St. Konoe," she explained coolly. "My loyalty is to the royal family. If I suspect that anyone, even a member of the clergy, is an active menace to the Princess, it is my duty to investigate... and neutralize that menace, if need be."

The Cardinal clutched his stomach and chuckled, shaking his head like someone's grandfather amused at the antics of children. "Well, now. Are you saying I'm a threat to the Princess?"

Agrias met the man's gaze without blinking. "Nanten attacked me to kidnap her, then brought her into your castle. Also in your castle was a man who attacked my companions. I think it's certainly appropriate for me to question your motives."

"Where does Bart Company fit in?" demanded Ramza as soon as she finished speaking. "You're supposed to be upholding the law in Lionel, but they're openly criminal. Why do you do nothing? Are you actually _helping_ them? Did you have Mustadio targeted?"

Draclau shook his head again as the last of his laughter faded into sporadic chuckles. "So snappy," he murmured. "So quick to judge. I have no idea what you're talking about, young Beoulve. I'd advise you to guard your tongue more closely."

Ramza blinked. _He's right. I can't just fly off the handle like that. But then again, he didn't answer me._

"His question is a valid one," pointed out Agrias carefully. "Your men should be trying to stop Bart Company's smuggling, at the very least, as it affects your own income. But you do nothing, and they flourish. Why is that?"

The Cardinal sighed, a weary gesture, like the petty details of politics were too much for an old man of God to keep track of. "I'm afraid I can't help you, Holy Knight. You will have to seek your answers elsewhere."

Ramza frowned, sharing another sidelong glance with Agrias. In truth, he'd expected this, for Draclau to take the path of least resistance, neither opposing nor helping. As such, they had a backup plan. A bad one, to be sure, but a plan nonetheless.

"Is it the stone?" wondered Agrias, shifting her attention back to the Cardinal.

Draclau paused. "Stone?"

"The Zodiac Stone. Taurus." Agrias folded arms over her chest. "We have it."

Draclau's dark eyes glittered with something, some hidden emotion, but whatever it was, Ramza couldn't read it. After a moment the holy man tilted his head. "As relics of St. Ajora, the Zodiac Stones are rightfully property of Glabados Church."

Ramza eyed his companion, then Draclau. "If you tell us what you know, we'll give it to you." Beside him, Agrias' eyes went wide in startlement but she said nothing. That hadn't been part of the plan.

The Cardinal's eyes, in contrast, narrowed. Shortly he nodded. "Very well. Let's see your stone. Put it on the table."

Agrias hesitated only briefly before doing as he asked. Taurus glittered like amber in the weak light from the windows.

Draclau stared at the stone, rubbing his hands slowly together, and when he began to speak his eyes didn't move. "You are, of course, correct. The boy stole our stone. I tasked Bart Company with retrieving it for me and so far they've bungled the matter." As he spoke, he reached into his robes and shortly pulled out another stone, a red one, which glittered just like the first. "Ovelia doesn't fit into it at all except as a means to strengthen Goltana's claim to the throne, to put him on a level with Larg, so that they'll start a war. The resulting destruction will leave no man standing... except the Church. And who better to run things? Even people who don't hate the aristocracy are tired of them; you should thank me for displacing them. Everybody wins."

Agrias swallowed. Her face was hard, chiseled ice. "And Ovelia?"

"A casualty," dismissed the Cardinal, staring into his own stone. "Just one of many. No one will miss her."

Ramza pondered this for a moment, then drew his blade. "What do the stones even do? Why do you want them?"

A corner of Draclau's lips twitched in a minimal smile as he eyed the weapon. "You want to see? Fine." Ruby light flashed, then began to swirl around him.

Ramza backed off, baffled, and watched as the Cardinal used the stone to... suck energy into himself, it seemed. Along with wisps of blood-colored light came the distended forms what looked almost like spirits, but all too soon something exploded. Ramza threw up an arm to protect his face, his eyes.

When he could see again, Draclau was gone. In his place stood something dead. Bloated, pale skin, dark and sunken eyes, a belly sewn grotesquely together... and an inhuman grin.

"Ha!" laughed the demon; the sound shook the walls in the office. "Surprised, are you? Didn't see that coming, I suppose. Now. Scream, so I can enjoy killing you!"

_This is absurd._ Ramza bared his teeth and rushed the thing that had been Draclau. _Is that what the stones do?_ His sword sunk easily into puffy monstrous flesh, and the black blood spraying from the wound made his sword smoke. _Are they 'holy' at all, or is that just a misnomer?_ Light flashed, blinding him, as Agrias unleashed an attack on the demon; at the same time Knox hacked into one of its arms. _Does the Church even know about them? About what they do?_ One swipe of an arm like a tree trunk, and he flew, losing his grip on the sword. _There's no way Draclau could have kept that to himself. They know._ Jasmine's wavy face in front of his eyes, smiling, murmuring something; his own blood-streaked hand pushing her out of the way so he could return to the fight.

_If they know, and he's still in his position, they're part of it._ Another Crush Punch through Draclau; a slash from Vector's dagger. _At its core, then, the Church is as evil as this thing in front of me._ A surge of ruby magical power, and Alicia went down, coughing up blood; Agrias staggered but remained on her feet. _They're evil. They're demons._ Lavian crashed into the table, splitting it under her armored weight. _Demons who don't care. Like nobody but me cared about Alma._ A scream, a slash; more blood in his face, like burning pitch.

Abruptly Draclau froze and howled. Crimson lightning arced out from him into a sphere of uncontrolled power.

Then he exploded.

When his head stopped ringing, Ramza picked himself off the rubble-strewn floor, coughing, and examined the situation. Everyone but Vector was still alive, and Jasmine was tending to him already, drawing him back through to the right side of the veil. In place of the demon, the red Zodiac stone now lay on the stone floor. Agrias sat slumped a few paces away from the thing, staring at it, legs sprawled before her, and everyone else was tending to their own injuries. Someone had already retrieved Taurus.

Swallowing painfully, Ramza trotted over to the Holy Knight and frowned at her for a moment before squatting to retrieve the red stone. A familiar symbol had been etched into it somehow. _Scorpio, huh?_

Agrias followed his motion, blue eyes wide, face vacant. Then she grimaced and turned away. "We killed a Cardinal," she whispered.

"Yeah." Pocketing the stone, Ramza planted hands on his knees and stood upright. "Get up. We have to go."

"Go. Right." Shaking her head, Agrias clambered to her feet and glance around.

Ramza did likewise, lips thinned. "Is everyone ready to move? I don't think we'll--"

The door slammed open, interrupting him. In the doorway stood a grim-faced Lionel soldier, sword drawn, with several more men visible behind him, filling up the hallway. "What's going on in here?" he demanded. "What are...."

Trailing off, the fellow took visible note of everyone's injured conditions, the damage to the room as a whole, and the absence of the Cardinal inside it. Then his face went cold. "Everyone, put away your weapons," he instructed quietly, leveling his own blade at the room in general. "You need to be detained for questioning."

Sighing, Ramza obeyed, aware of everyone else doing the same, if with some measure of muttering and a few calculating glances towards the guards. "One thing first, though," he began, fishing Scorpio from his pockets. After shifting the stone to his shield hand he stepped forward, showing the thing to the guard captain. "Have you seen this?"

The soldier gave him a hard stare, then shifted his attention to the Zodiac stone. Then his jaw dropped; it must have been rare for him to see fist-sized rubies. The sword pointed at the rest of the room wavered slightly, forgotten.

While the man was distracted, Ramza drew his own weapon and slid forward, striking with a quick upwards slash, not at the soldier, but at his sword. The blade shattered into at least a dozen flying pieces, but Ramza didn't stop moving until he was behind the captain, with his sword against the fellow's neck. Hastily tossing Scorpio to Lavian, who jerked to catch it, he gripped the soldier's shoulder and spoke in a measured tone, addressing the guards still in the hallway. "Weapons on the floor," he commanded. "Or else your officer dies, and the Cardinal's gem gets smashed on the wall. Now."

The Lionel men hesitated, glancing to their leader, who raised one hand to gesture stiffly floorward. The other soldiers reluctantly obeyed, laying their swords on the floor, faces blank.

"What's going to happen now," continued Ramza, tightening his grip on the captain, "is that we're going to leave here. You're not going to question us, because I guarantee you wouldn't believe what we told you anyway. Instead we're going to take it nice and easy, and if everything goes well, we'll not only leave this fellow here alive, but we'll give you the gem, too."

Lavian swallowed, clutching Scorpio. "Ramza, are you sure...?"

"Shut up," he snapped at her, shifting his head minutely in her direction so as not to lose sight of the men in the hallway. At the same time, however, he spared her a wink with his far eye; with luck the Lionel types wouldn't be able to see it. It would have to be enough, silly as it was.

After a moment Lavian nodded. Watery blue eyes regarded the soldiers without fear and she held the stone at head level, easily visible without being far enough away to risk someone's foolhardy attempt to grab it. All around, Agrias and everyone else hefted their weapons, flowing out into the hallway and keeping menacing eyes on the other soldiers.

As they started edging down the hallway, one of the Lionel men cleared his throat. "But... the Cardinal...."

"...was dead before we got here," finished Ramza flatly. At least, he assumed that to be the case; whatever demon had been inhabiting his body probably hadn't been kind in taking it over. "Our injuries are the result of an unrelated matter, and we have no issue with anyone here. Do you understand?" One shuffling step after another, edging down the hallway with the captain held hostage and Lavian behind him.

The soldier who'd spoken scowled at this. With one knot of gold around his left arm, he looked to be a junior officer of some sort. "Then why can't you stay and explain what happened? If you're innocent, you'll--"

"I said we're leaving," interrupted Ramza. Another step down the corridor, towards a stairway. "You'd do the same in my position."

The officer scowled, if anything, more deeply at this, but at least he didn't bother to argue further. None of the others said anything either.

Ramza didn't relax, however, didn't loosen his grip on the captain. Soon Agrias flowed up beside him and leveled her blade at the man, extra insurance for the good behavior of the other soldiers. Not that they could do much, with their swords still on the ground back by the late Cardinal's office, but desperate people could get stupid in a hurry.

Long moments later they reached the intersection, still shadowed by the weaponless Lionel soldiers. Another group rushed up to join the first there, from down another hallway, but there they hovered, apparently unwilling to attack while the others stood peacefully by. A handful of wizards and priests showed up a moment later and did the same, glancing helplessly about for someone of higher rank, but apparently finding none higher than the officer in his grasp.

By the time they reached the gate from the keep proper to the city, some thirty people crowded the halls, edging along with him. He'd begun to move a little faster, shuffling rather than inching, when the guards continued to stay their hands, but nevertheless, to an outside observer it would probably look ridiculous. Everyone involved, however, was deadly serious.

At the gate an idea stopped him. "Chocobos."

The junior officer, a sour-faced man with a scar down one cheek, frowned. "What about chocobos?"

"We need some. One for each person, at the city's western gate. By the time we get there."

A few heads in the crowd turned to glance at one another in confusion. Soft rain misted in through the gate, bringing with it the scent of damp stone.

Ramza bared his teeth. "I said, get us chocobos." His arm tensed; the captain in his grip stiffened.

"Okay," conceded the junior officer, holding hands up defensively. "Okay. Jared, go tell the stables. Seven birds." A younger fellow, almost a boy, nodded quickly and ran off, into the castle.

"They're going to follow you anyway," warned the captain tightly, moving only his lips to speak. "You know that, don't you?"

Ramza shrugged, tugging the man through the open gateway, into the mass of the city circling the keep. Everyone else followed, a tense knot of armored individuals, not to mention Lavian holding the Zodiac Stone in plain view. "Don't care."

As they advanced through the city of Lionel, Ramza moved as fast as possible while still keeping the captain under control, and keeping an eye on everyone else. Which meant he took a tense stroll through the streets, surrounded by soldiers and onlookers. The crowd of spectators grew as locals drifted over in curiosity to examine this strange scene, and before long there were dozens of people, maybe a hundred, milling about and following along, most pointing fingers and exchanging excited whispers. Some doubtless had ideas about better things to do with the glittering stone Lavian was holding skyward, but with ranks of armed guards in the way, no one could do much about it, and the soldiers weren't about to attack a man with a blade to the throat of the ranking officer present.

Ramza shook his head. By nightfall his face would be staring from every street corner, probably under the word "Heretic" and above some sizable figure in gil. _Hopefully it'll just be me, and everyone else is still fine. Maybe me and Lavian._ Agrias would have some explaining to do, though, once her superiors caught wind of this.

When they reached the gate, there were indeed seven chocobos waiting there, each tended to by a liveried stableboy, most of whom stared in open-mouthed wonder at the approaching spectacle. As they drew near, Ramza jerked a nod at one of his companions and spoke in a low voice. "Vector, check them out. Make sure they're not weak or lame." The man nodded and jogged over to the birds.

Turning instead to the junior officer, Ramza nodded past him, at everyone else. "Tell them to back off, at least thirty paces. Once all my friends are mounted, you'll get the stone and this fellow here." Rain continued to breathe down from the grey sky, keeping the city's mud-slicked paving stones wet.

The officer gave his mouth a displeased twist but didn't argue. Instead he turned around, waving both arms at everyone else, gesturing them back. "Everyone, give us some space! Move it, now!" The crowd of soldiers and spellcasters, over a hundred, muttered vaguely but shuffled to do as he asked. Slowly an open space grew in the street.

"Ramza, they're fine," reported a breathy Vector, appearing nearby. "Saddled and bridled and everything."

"Good. Everyone, get mounted." Ramza didn't look at his friends, only listened to their silent obedience, as he kept his eyes pinned on the junior officer, who simply stared back at him.

When he was the only one not yet on a bird, he glanced back, at the city's open gate, then tugged the captain back through it. "You," he instructed at the only remaining soldier. "Come with me. After we're outside the walls, I want the gate closed with you on the outside. I don't want to have your army of friends chasing after me right away when I'm leaving."

The officer scowled. "There's a limit to how much I'll negotiate with--"

"Do it or I'll kill you both."

The man scowled at this, then sighed. "Fine." Cupping hands to his mouth, he craned his neck to peer up the moss-marbled height of the wall. "Ho, the tower! Once I'm outside with them, lower the gate!"

Silence answered for a moment, but eventually a man's voice floated down. "Yes, sir!"

Nodding curtly, Ramza backpedaled with his hostage, stepping to some twenty paces outside the city. Then he spared another glance at his companions, gauging everyone's positions. Lavian and Agrias were the closest, the former still holding Scorpio and the latter clutching the reins of Ramza's empty mount in one gauntleted fist. The city gate rumbled and creaked its way towards the ground.

_Okay. We're ready._ Giving the captain a quick shove, into the junior officer, Ramza spun and hopped to his saddle. "Lavian, go! Everyone go!" Suiting actions to words, he heeled the bird forward, racing away from Lionel, into the hills. Angry shouts from the two soldiers followed him, fading quickly into distance.

For four hours they raced without even bothering to speak, flying through the miles, pounding chocobo claws into muddy ground over green and rolling hills. Only then, near the edge of a swamp, did he slow and frown back over his shoulder, but nobody was following them. Not in sight, anyway. Nothing but drizzle and hills.

Some of the others seemed to notice this and slowed as well. Agrias edged her mount closer to his own. "We have maybe a half-hour of daylight left. Think it's worth camping out yet, or do you want to try to get into the swamp?"

He eyed her sideways, surprised at the question. "May as well camp here. If they come for us, we can scatter into the swamp anyway." A wall of trees rose about a hundred paces west, some leafless and skeletal, some green, all gnarled. The Lionel men, if any came, would have difficulty navigating through step-like tree roots and waterlogged ground while keeping their prey in sight.

At his words, everyone slowed almost as one to a trot, then slid out of saddles to wet ground. Ramza did so as well, pausing to knuckle his back with a grimace; he was a fair rider, but running that hard for that long wasn't good for anyone. "Vector, Jasmine," he called. "Check the birds, if you would. Some might have strained something during the race here."

Jasmine smiled, and Vector simply nodded. As they began tending to the chocobos, Agrias' low voice floated through the rain. "Girls, set up the camp for now. I'll help in a moment."

Something in her voice caught Ramza's attention and he paused in the act of handing his reins to Jasmine. Turning to the Holy Knight, he watched as she strode briskly to meet him, long legs swishing through wet grass.

"I kind of figured you'd kill that guy," she began, nodding at him. "The captain."

"What?" He blinked. "Why would I do that?"

A corner of her lips quirked. "You're not... a gentle fellow, I've noticed. He was an enemy and you left him standing."

He glared at the woman for a moment. "So? You had your sword drawn on him too, and you didn't do anything."

"True," she shrugged; armored plates clinked together with the motion. "It was just a question, Ramza."

He continued to scowl at her for a moment, jaws tense, before finally glancing off to one side, to where the rest of the group was busy setting things up for the night. "Who cares? We have better things to worry about right now."

"Yeah." She shook her head slowly, following his gaze. "We'll... talk more later, I think. I'm tired and hungry."

"Yeah."

* * *

"We're screwed."

Agrias paused in the act of chewing a strip of salted beef and frowned at Alicia. "How so?"

The redhead brushed water from her face, then fixed Agrias with a hard brown-eyed stare. "Do you think anyone in Lesalia is going to believe that Cardinal Draclau turned into a demon and exploded?"

"Probably not." Swallowing the mouthful of food, she glanced over at Ramza and his people seated in a silent circle a few paces away. In the cloudy twilight, everything beyond them was little more than shadows and mist. "But there were no other witnesses."

"Except for the hundreds of people who saw us steal a Zodiac Stone and seven chocobos," countered the younger woman dryly. "That might raise a few eyebrows too, don't you think?" Lavian grunted into her waterskin but said nothing.

Agrias shrugged. "I suppose so. The minute Draclau turned into that thing, we were all renegades anyway. Or were either if you planning to keep on with St. Konoe anyway, knowing that the Church teaching you sword skills is also the stomping ground of demons?"

Alicia blinked, then glanced sideways at Lavian, who shook her head. After a moment Alicia sighed, slumping. "No. You're right."

Lavian frowned delicately. "Are you going to teach us instead, then?"

"I can," allowed Agrias with a matching frown. "I'm... probably not the best teacher, but... yeah. It'll probably be a couple of years before you can do what I can, though."

The girl waved this caveat away. "Yeah, we know."

Alicia poked at the flattened grass under her folded legs. "What about Ovelia?"

Agrias rubbed a tired hand over her face. "Sounds like she's on her way to Zeltennia. I doubt Draclau was lying about that, at least. But... the Nanten are based there, and they aren't likely to be too friendly with us after we've fought them twice. And even if they don't care, St. Konoe will, since we're wanted now. I think if we show up in Zeltennia, our old 'friends' will whisk us away and no one will ever see us again. If our enemies don't do it first."

Lavian grimaced; doubtless she knew this was true. Alicia, however, scowled. "So you're saying we should just abandon her?"

Agrias fixed the younger woman with a level stare. "What would you do differently? You're the one who pointed out that we were screwed in the first place."

Alicia blinked, then made a sour face and started ripping stalks of grass from the ground. "Yeah," she whispered. "I was hoping you'd tell me I was wrong, though."

Silence descended for long moments until Lavian shifted. "So... what now?"

Agrias gazed thoughtfully at the other woman, then turned to face the rest of the party. "Hey, Ramza. Got a moment?"

The mercenary paused in the act of sharpening his sword and glanced up at her, honey eyes wide and empty. After a moment he nodded, tucking his whetstone and sword away, then rose and trotted the few paces separating them. "What?"

"Have a seat," she advised, gesturing at the ground. The girls scooted aside to give him room.

He obeyed silently, then fixed her with another stare. "What?"

She paused, lips pursed, choosing which matter to address first. "You broke your word earlier today. You told the Cardinal you'd give him the stone but then you attacked him."

Ramza's face tightened. "No, he attacked us."

"Well... true, but you drew your sword on him while we were still talking."

He shrugged. "He was going to attack us anyway. Did you really think he was going to tell us all of that and then let us walk away? And besides, you did give him the stone. You put it on the table, and then we killed him and took it back."

Agrias sighed. "Alright, fine. I'll give you that one. But you also broke your word to the guard captain. You told him you'd give him the other stone, Scorpio."

Ramza blinked, but his expression remained unreadable. "Did you really think it was a good idea to give away a Zodiac Stone? It got us out of there alive, didn't it?"

She scowled. "That's not the... look, it may have been useful, even necessary, but a necessary evil is still an evil. You can't lose sight of that. Try to think of a better way next time."

He gazed at her for a moment, forehead wrinkling in thought, but finally he glanced away and deflated. "You're right. I never used to... you're right."

"Don't worry about it." She shifted, adjusting her sword in its scabbard lying along the wet ground. "Now. What do you plan to do now? You wanted to do something about Mustadio's father, I recall."

"Yeah." He stared at her again, intently, without humor. "Bart Company probably still has him, and I doubt they've moved him out of Goug. Now that Draclau's settled, I'm going to head that way and fix that, too. You're welcome to come along if you want."

Agrias fingered the edge of her shield, thinking. The metal was cold, beaded with moisture. "What of the Church? In addition to the Hokuten and Nanten, you've made an enemy out of them, too."

"No." Ramza's eyes narrowed, and one gloved fist clenched. "_They've_ made enemies of _us_."

"Well, call it what you will," she continued, "but every major force in Ivalice is probably after you now. I doubt the Church will send someone here to take you, Scorpio or no; instead they'll probably just put a bounty on your head and include a reward for bringing the stone back. So the only group around here not trying to kill you now is Bart Company, and you're about to change that."

"That's right." He shrugged, scratching an itch on his cheek. "But that's what I'm going to do. Are you going to come along, or are you going after Ovelia?"

She hesitated, glancing at her subordinates, but Lavian only smiled back while Alicia offered a slight nod. "We'll come along," she answered. "We got Taurus from Mustadio, and while I'm not sure that giving it back to his father is the right move, with Bart Company and everything, the least we can do is tell the guy what happened to his son."

"Okay. Good." He climbed to his feet again and turned to go.

Agrias caught his wrist before he could leave, then released it. "What of your family? You're a Beoulve."

He paused, mulling this over, before nodding. "Good point. We should take them out too."

"What? No, that's...." She gave her head a quick shake. "No, what I meant was, what is your situation with them? Do you think they might be able to help us?"

His lips peeled back. "No." Straw-colored hair hung in wet disarray, clinging to his forehead, his cheeks.

"Why not?"

"I hate them," he answered quietly, staring down at her. "And they don't care about me. If Larg and Dycedarg were trying to get Ovelia, it was probably to kill her, so they're as corrupt as everyone else, and Zalbag has forsaken his right to be in the family. They are dead to me."

"O...kay," acknowledged Agrias, frowning. "I thought you had a sister, though. Right? What of her?"

Ramza's face went abruptly cold, so cold, in fact, that she reached for her sword hilt while Lavian shrank back from him. After a silent moment he turned away and strode off, away from the camp, into the darkness.

Agrias sighed, glancing again at her remaining companions. Rain misted into her face, her hands, bringing a clammy chill.

Lavian raised her eyebrows in resignation. "It's like you said, I guess. We don't have to like him."


	5. Wishes in Stone

_I'm nonviolent with those who are nonviolent with me. But when you drop that violence on me, then you've made me go insane, and I'm not responsible for what I do._  
-- Malcolm X

Chapter Five: Wishes in Stone

It was raining in Goug. It had been raining for almost a week straight now.

Ramza sat alone in his room at the Split Anchor, legs folded atop the bed, leaning back against the wall. He hadn't lit the lamp; only the occasional flash of lightning illuminated the room, and even then only by the barest degree as flickering silver light angled between the closed shutters to paint brief and ghostly outlines. Rain drummed a constant rhythm against the roof above.

Another staccato flash traced out the glittering gem in his hand, but robbed it of its ruby color. Even after the darkness returned and a fitful rumbling rattled the shutters, he still stared at the thing, unmoving, thinking.

In a way, the stone was... surprising. With the power it contained, he would have expected it to feel distinctive in some way, maybe by tingling in one's hand or simply being heavy. Instead, it was just... a stone. A gem. He could have been holding a chunk of glass for all he could tell.

But people didn't die over glass. Glass didn't turn people into demons.

Thunder shook the shutters once more, vibrated his bones for a moment. What other powers might a Zodiac stone have? Strength, probably. _But strength didn't help Draclau._ Immortality, perhaps. _But who'd even want such a thing? Only a madman._ Knowledge. _Only, the more you know about the world, the less you like about it. We'd be better off staying children forever._ The power to... to raise the dead, maybe.

He frowned. Outside, silver lightning flickered.

_Would she even recognize me?_ His fingers tightened on the stone. _A lot's happened since then, and I'm not the same man. Even if she did, would she still love me? Probably not._

Sighing, he let his eyes slide shut. The stone probably couldn't even do such a thing anyway. _Here I am, getting my hopes up again. I thought I'd learned...._

Someone knocked at the door, three sharp raps against solid oak.

Cutting his gaze in that direction, he hesitated briefly, then rubbed his thumb across Scorpio's hard surface before tucking the thing back into his coat pocket. "Come in."

* * *

A man-shaped shadow paused in the black of the moonless night, glancing around. "Is someone here?" A wall of rain hissed down, roaring into agitated puddles in the refuse-filled alley.

Vector stepped out of the deeper shadows of an empty doorway and nodded. "What's the pass phrase?"

The other fellow shuffled a few paces closer, hands stuffed into his pockets. "Lancer grapefruit seventy-one. What's yours?"

"A mirror can only show you what you already know." As he spoke, his fingers twitched, but he suppressed the urge to wipe his palms against his waterlogged cloak.

The Bart Company man nodded, then lounged against a brick wall splattered with mud. "What did you want?"

Vector donned a smile even though the other man would never be able to see it. "I'm uh... I want to arrange a meeting. With Rudvich."

"Oh?" The handler tilted his head to one side. He had an accent. Warjilis, maybe? "Rudvich is a busy man."

Lightning arced overhead, jagged silver bolts branching across the sky. Instantly Vector lifted his eyes, scanning the crouching rooflines in the brief moment of illumination. Above an abandoned potter's shop thirty paces away perched the silhouette of a man with something in his hands, probably a crossbow. _Only one archer? Careless._

As the sky faded back to stormy blackness and thunder pealed through his bones, he returned his gaze to the other man. "My friends have something he wants. I'm... well, pretty sure he'll find time to meet them."

"Tell you what," sighed the handler, inspecting his fingernails, though doubtless he couldn't see anything in the darkness. "If you tell me what this thing is, and where it is, we'll let you live. Deal?"

Vector laughed, reaching up to toy with an earlobe before he could stop himself. "I have a counterproposal. Tell Rudvich to be here at this time tomorrow night or he'll never see Taurus."

* * *

Jasmine pushed her way into the room, then paused, blinking. "It's dark in here," she whispered, holding the door open to let golden light from the hallway spill in. "Do you want light?"

Ramza held up a hand, shielding his eyes from the sudden illumination. "Not really. The dark is fine."

Frowning, she nodded, then closed the door softly behind her. With all that had been happening lately, she hadn't had time to talk to him, to see what was so wrong. _I wonder if it's Alma, still. That was over a year ago, though; shouldn't he be sort of over it by now?_

When he said nothing, she shuffled forward, into the room, taking her time to let her eyes adjust to the blackness. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine."

She made a face. "Ramza, I'm... can I sit next to you?"

"Sure."

Shaking her head, she reached blindly forward, advancing inch by inch until her fingers encountered soft linen. Then, after fumbling to find an empty spot next to Ramza, she shifted about and sat there. Her bracelets jingled with the motion, a familiar sound, one she barely noticed anymore. "You seem different," she continued, still whispering. "Hurt. I haven't seen you smile since... since Fort Zeakden."

He shifted beside her. "What's there to smile about?"

"You have friends, don't you?" As she spoke, she laid a hand on his arm. On skin, not cloth; his sleeves were rolled halfheartedly up. "There are people you can joke around with, laugh with. People who care about you."

"I know. But they shouldn't." Pale light flickered between the shutters; thunder boomed through the city, fading to a muttering rumble.

Jasmine thinned her lips. "That doesn't make any sense, Ramza. Please, just--"

"I don't want to talk about it."

She sighed. "Fine."

A silence descended between them, filled only by rain hammering against the roof and wall, and she found herself pondering her next approach. Despite all the flirting, all the joking around, and probably all the whispers behind her back, there'd been only two men she'd known in the most personal of fashions. Neither had been Ramza. It wouldn't have been right, before, when he'd been her commander, and now he'd lost his unwitting boyish charm, but he was still a good-looking man. A good-looking man who was hurt. He hadn't tugged his arm away from her grasp as she'd half-expected, and his muscles there weren't even tense.

Swallowing, she slid her hand up to his shoulder and squeezed it. "Look, I... sometimes you just need something to help you forget things, you know? And I know you don't really drink, so... I want you to let me help you. We don't..."

"Jasmine."

"...have to let anyone else know, and I'm not expecting you to follow me around and give me flowers or anything, but you need help. Companionship." She leaned forward, sliding her hand to his other shoulder without a pause in her murmured words. "I have a feeling I'd be your first, so we can be slow about it if you want, do whatever you're comfortable with. My..."

"Jasmine."

"...goal is just to help you feel better, you know. I want to see you smile again." She was close enough now to feel his breath, a gentle stir of air on her cheek. "You used to have the sweetest smile, you know. It was so endearing. I'm not thinking I'll see that again, at least not in the near future, but if I can help you feel happy just for a moment, I won't regret--"

Something warm pressed against her face -- his hand, fingers curling slightly into her cheeks -- and then he was pushing her away, if gently. "Jasmine, no."

She gripped his wrist but made no move to pull his hand away. Her heart was thundering in her ribs now, matching the echoes outside, but she kept her voice as soft as she could make it. "Are... are you sure?"

"I'm sure." His hand dropped away, leaving a web of warmth that faded slowly from her face. "I'm... you don't have to do something like this. For me."

"I know," she answered, frowning, wishing she could see his face to read it. Was he staring at his lap? At her? "I know I don't have to. I want to."

He sighed. "Jasmine, you're... you're full of life. Full of love. All that's in my heart is... a graveyard of trampled hopes. You don't want to be part of that."

She paused a moment, clearing a sudden scowl from her face. "It's not your place to decide that for me."

"I know. But it is my place to say no."

She squeezed her eyes shut, letting her head drop, letting hair spill to her lap. "I... understand. I'm sorry, Ramza. I thought... I don't know."

"Don't worry about it." He shifted about again, patting her knee in what was probably supposed to be a reassuring fashion, but his tone was still flat, uninflected. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't flattered. And tempted. But... no."

Nodding once, she exhaled tightly, puffing a lock of wavy hair away from her face. "I hope... I hope we can keep from being... you know, _weird_, I guess, now."

His hand slid away from her knee. "I'm not worried about it. Are you?"

She pondered that for a moment before giving her head a slow shake. "I suppose not. I've brought you back from death too many times to let something like this get under my skin, I think."

"Yeah. I know what you mean."

"Yeah." Rubbing her forehead momentarily, she gave her head a toss and swept her hair back into place. "Well, are you sure you don't want to talk, at least?"

Cloth shifted as he shook his head, presumably. "I'm sure."

She nodded, uncertain what else she could do. "Do you even want me just to... stay here? And just sit here with you?"

"No, that's okay. I kind of prefer to be alone."

"Okay," she sighed, pushing herself to her feet. "Just... don't forget, Ramza. You have friends. You don't have to do everything alone."

She waited, but he didn't answer, didn't even move. Suppressing a sigh but not a frustrated twist to her lips, Jasmine slipped out of the room, into the relative brilliance of the inn's hallway. _He has to let somebody in, at some point. Otherwise he's going to die like that._

* * *

"And you really think he's going to come?" muttered Alicia.

Ramza fixed her with a flat stare. "If he doesn't, we lose nothing." He and the others stood in an alley in the Goug slums, among black puddles reflecting moonlight and fractured clouds above.

"Except maybe some lives," added the redhead, under her breath, "when his goons attack us to take the stone."

He scowled at the unmoving shadows of the alley mouth. They'd been over this. "It's either him or Funeral," he pointed out. "They're the only ones still alive who are likely to know anything about the Zodiac Stones. Would you rather break into Murond and go after the High Priest instead?"

The petite knight rolled her shoulders, clicking metal plates together. Curly red hair hung in a bushy tail just past the bottom of her helmet. "I bet you'll say we should do that anyway, when this fails."

Clenching teeth together against the urge to keep bickering, Ramza spared a glance at Agrias, wondering how the Holy Knight usually handled the other woman's acid tongue. She only offered a half-grin in answer, though, as if to say, _yeah, good luck._

Shaking his head, he glanced again at the sky and waited. He could remember a time when, before fights, he'd check his weapons and armor, making sure everything was in place and ready, but now the urge was no longer there. He'd been using the blade long enough for it to become just another part of his body.

"He's late," murmured Jasmine, tugging the white hood lower over her face.

Ramza kept his eyes firmly away from the priestess. "He'll come."

Knox shifted his feet. "Do you suppose we...?"

He trailed off as a green-cloaked man appeared at the alley mouth some twenty paces away. The newcomer scrutinized their group briefly, eyes narrowed, then nodded and waved somebody else in. A handful of others followed almost instantly, mostly hulking bruisers and sunken-eyed killers, all led by a fat man in flowing green silks. Rudvich, certainly.

Ramza followed the man with his eyes, getting his measure. Rudvich strode through the alley like he owned it, displaying no sign of unease at meeting a handful of armed strangers in the night, on their terms. Gold or silver glittered on every finger, most adorned with gaudy gems of varying colors, and line of flowery embroidery marched up the front of his coat, seemingly out-of-place on a man so comfortable in a dark alley.

As the fellow slowed to a halt, Ramza pushed himself from the wall he was leaning on and shuffled closer. Knox followed by his side, while Agrias eased her sword in its scabbard.

Rudvich offered a cold, impatient nod. "Tell me what you know about Taurus," he instructed, "including where it is, and I'll--"

Ramza didn't let him finish. Instead he drew his sword and twisted sideways, turning the act of drawing into a backhanded slice at the nearest bodyguard's belly. Cloth and flesh parted; blood sprayed, and the man bit off a scream.

Instantly the alley erupted into shouts and savage violence. Ramza spun away from a panicked counterattack from the man he'd cut, instead shifting to hack at a crouched dagger-wielding skulker. One humming slash from Knox cut the first man in half, while a hair-raising flash of power announced Agrias doing what she did best.

A screaming figure fell abruptly from a nearby rooftop, shortly crunching into the ground. Ramza ignored the corpse, stepping over it to block a lunging stab at his throat; an answering slash bit into his opponent's forearm but didn't cripple him. Somewhere close by, Alicia shouted, apparently more from anger than pain.

In moments it was over. Ramza clutched at a gash along his arm he couldn't remember getting, but quickly released it and turned to face Rudvich.

The fat man hadn't been touched, hadn't even moved, only stood there with wide eyes. A short distance away, a few drops of blood fell from above, followed by another limp body. Lavian or Vector must have found the second archer, then.

Straightening, Ramza advanced on the smuggler and leveled his blade at the man. "We're going to ask you some questions," he explained quietly, "and you're going to answer them." His companions drifted over as well, weapons drawn, forming a circle around the silk-clad fellow.

Rudvich's dark eyes darted towards him and he nodded faintly. In the moonlight he seemed somehow very pale, almost sick. "O--okay. Just... I'll tell you what you want, but just... just don't kill me." Without his bodyguards, it seemed, his confidence had gone missing.

"Fine." Ramza glanced to the alley mouth, past all the bodies, but could see nothing but the cracking wall of the chemist's shop across the street. In this part of Goug, he suspected, two armies could collide without drawing attention, at least not until later, when the scavengers came out. Returning his gaze to the captive merchant, he tried to keep the disgust from his face. "What do you want with Taurus?"

Rudvich made a sour face at this, but slumped. "It's... weapons," he sighed. "I wanted to make weapons. But the Cardinal...." He trailed off, eyes widening, then clamped his mouth shut and swallowed.

Ramza lifted an eyebrow. "What about the Cardinal?"

"I don't...." The smuggler paused, then sighed again. Elsewhere in the alley, the dead began flickering into silent crystals. "He was paying me to get it for him, but I was planning to keep it anyway, or maybe give it back after I'd used it for my own projects."

Ramza pondered this, exchanged a glance with Agrias, then poked Rudvich with the tip of his sword. "What was the last word you heard from Draclau?"

"'Do nothing with the old man until the stone is safe.' That was probably... two weeks ago."

"The old man," repeated Ramza flatly. "That's Mustadio's father, isn't it? I... don't remember his last name."

"Bunanza," supplied Agrias.

"Yeah." Rudvich swallowed. "He's... yeah."

Ramza nodded once, jaw clenched; for some reason his heart was pounding, pushing a tingling lightness throughout his chest. "Where is he now? Is he hurt?"

Something in his voice must have given his displeasure away, for the other man's eyes widened again. "He's fine. Can't walk, but that's... he's in the port district, held in an abandoned house."

"Which house?"

"It's... it has no name, no nothing. It's at the base of an old windmill that fell over years ago."

"Guards?"

Rudvich grimaced. "Five."

"What did Draclau want with the stone?"

"I have no idea."

Ramza paused, glancing around at his companions. "Anything else we want to know?"

A brief silence followed before Jasmine pursed her lips. "Was this Draclau's plan, or Funeral's?"

Rudvich's lips peeled back. "How would I know?"

Jasmine scowled but didn't answer.

After a moment Ramza nodded, then bent to clean his sword on Rudvich's silks before scabbarding it. "Draclau's dead," he explained to the other man, "and we have his stone. Don't ever try to acquire Taurus again, or tell Funeral about us. If you do, I'll come back to find you and I won't be nearly so lenient next time."

As the weapons pointed at him disappeared, Rudvich exhaled, slumping in relief. "Fine."

Ramza nodded again. Then he punched the fat man in the face.

Rudvich stumbled back into a wall, clutching a bloody nose, but Ramza followed, driving a fist into the man's gut, then pulling his face into one knee. As the smuggler collapsed groaning to the ground, Ramza danced around him, delivering repeated kicks to the man's face and body, leaving bruises, splitting flesh.

Abruptly plated arms wrapped around his waist, dragging him back from his victim. Ramza froze, blinking away a red fog, then pushed angrily free of Agrias' grasp.

"Let's just calm down, shall we?" came her low voice from behind him. "This guy's not a threat anymore."

"Yeah." Ignoring the woman, he stepped back to the moaning Rudvich, then squatted beside him and grabbed one hand. The rings on the smuggler's fingers had been there for some time, it seemed; not all of them wanted to come free, even with vigorous twisting and tugging.

"What the hell?" muttered Alicia behind him as he worked. "Are you _robbing_ him?"

With a scowl Ramza kept on until he held three heavy rings in the palm of his hand; the rest were probably lost causes. Tucking the things into his coat pocket, he stood and faced the short knight. "Yes."

And then he was on the ground, clutching his own nose, which felt twice its normal size. It was bleeding, trickling hot blood between his fingers, but probably not broken. With a heavy sigh he pushed himself to his feet and turned back to Alicia for the inevitable scolding.

She advanced towards him, staring menacingly up into his eyes. "You don't beat on an unarmed man," she hissed, "and you don't rob him. No matter who he is. Now give those back."

"He has five more," countered Ramza. "He's fine. Let's worry about Mustadio's father instead." Before she could reply, he turned around to leave, but Agrias' open hand on his chest stopped him.

"Alicia's out of line again," noted the Holy Knight, flickering narrowed eyes towards the redhead, "but she makes a good point. What were you thinking? The robbing, I don't really care so much about, but beating him was way out of line." Past her, Knox and Jasmine exchanged uncertain glances.

Ramza blinked at her, and suddenly his vision grew blurry, his eyes hot. Swallowing, he turned away and clenched his teeth until he could speak. "You just... you shouldn't... kidnap helpless people. It's... not right."

Silence stretched after this, but eventually Agrias cleared her throat. "That's, um... we should go."

* * *

Agrias kept an eye on Ramza as they wandered in silence through the shadows of Goug's muddy slums. He was quite the question mark, she'd decided. He'd unexpectedly snapped by beating Rudvich within an inch of his life, and then, unless she was wildly wrong, had nearly broken into tears afterwards in response to a simple question. _He's a little... off-balance. There's no anticipating what he'll do._

Despite Alicia's heated claims to the contrary, she doubted he was a bad fellow, exactly. Unpredictable, of course, and dangerous, not to mention cold, rash, probably too violent and with all the social skills of a caged and starving dog who'd been poked with sticks... but not evil, per se. Nevertheless, perhaps it would be best to keep a little distance between him and Alicia. Not that he seemed to mind her punches and scoldings, really, but perhaps having Lavian keep an eye on him would be better. Perhaps she could--

"Hey," whispered Vector. "Is that the place?"

Blinking, clearing a scowl from having lost herself in thought, Agrias followed the man's pointing hand. Indeed, what lay perhaps a hundred paces ahead was almost exactly what Rudvich had described, one small house among several larger ones, all clustered around the scattered stone blocks that had once been a windmill standing some twenty paces high. The blades were still there as well, rotten wood banded with rusting steel, each twice as long as a man was tall. Grass and weeds poked stubbornly between the blocks, in some cases growing through cracks in their surface.

"Looks like it," mused Knox, shrugging massive shoulders. "Want me to kick in the door?"

"How about the wall?" wondered Lavian, poking his arm. "If you left a Brix-shaped hole in..."

"It's Knox."

"...the wall, we could file in there two at a time." She grinned up at him as she spoke, and Vector snickered.

"Don't do anything stupid," commanded Ramza in a low monotone, pressing the back of one wrist against his nose, though the bleeding had largely stopped. "If they put a dagger to his throat, we can't do anything."

"Shouldn't they have someone out front?" wondered Alicia doubtfully, drawing her blade once more. "On watch?"

Vector shook his head vigorously. "No. Not here. In a place like this, that's, um... sort of like shouting that you're doing something. It... attracts attention. And they don't, you know, want that." Alicia shot him a dark look and he fell silent.

Ramza fingered the hilt of his own sword. "Vector, Jasmine... head around to the other side. See if there's another door. If we can, I want to break in there in two places at once." The named individuals nodded and hurried off, shortly disappearing into the city's shadows.

Frowning, Agrias glanced around for a convenient hiding place, then pulled Alicia out of view of the house, with herself, behind a graffiti-strewn pillar that had once supported an inn's balcony. In short moments everyone else had secreted themselves about the area, and an eerie silence fell. In a city, of course, there were few if any crickets, and though it seemed like a poor district such as this should have, say, drunkards somewhere singing or arguing, there was nothing of the sort. Just breeze and shifting moon-shadows. _This feels like... ruins, not slums._

Some time later Ramza's people returned, slipping out of an alley in a different direction from how they'd come. "No other door," sighed Vector, drumming hands on his hips, "but there's a window we could maybe use. No glass or shutters or anything."

Ramza frowned towards the house. "Can Knox fit in through it?" Lavian and Jasmine both snickered, then eyed one another coolly.

Vector bobbed a nod. "Yeah. It's big."

The dead-eyed fellow shifted his gaze back to the others. "In that case, the four of us will go in that way, first, hoping to drive everyone inside towards the door. Then Agrias and the others storm in through the door and trap them inside. Does that work?" he added, glancing towards her.

Agrias found herself nodding. Consenting. Wondering how it was that he came to be calling the shots.

Ramza nodded. "Let's go, then. This should be quick."

Without waiting for acknowledgement from anyone else he turned and started trotting away, down the alley from which the others had just arrived. Making a wry face, Agrias followed along with everyone else. Mud shifted stiffly underfoot with every step, no longer wet enough to squish.

Soon Ramza and his people split off, angling deeper into the city to circle around their destination. Agrias continued on, threading through shadowed alleys towards the one side of the house lacking windows. Once there she paused, glancing both ways down an empty street, then hurried across to the structure itself, gesturing for silence from the girls. Once she got it, she shuffled to the corner of the building, then crouched and inched along its front, under a window, towards the door. And there she waited.

A faint breeze stirred her hair. Above, a black cloud drifted across the face of the moon, throwing the city into deeper shadow.

Abruptly somebody shouted inside the building, followed immediately by the clash of weapons. Agrias spun to her feet and pressed herself against the door, but once there she held up a hand for the girls, urging them to wait. _Soon. Any moment now...._

Sure enough, after another bout of panicked shouting, heavy bootsteps started racing towards the door from inside. Agrias waited until the time was right, then delivered a swift kick to the door.

Wood splintered and the door flew in, only to bounce to a shuddering halt a half-pace later; at the same time, somebody cursed. Smiling grimly, Agrias kicked the door the rest of the way in, and found herself staring at a thick-bodied squire clutching his forehead. Once slice of her sword dropped the man in halves to the ground.

Without a word Alicia and Lavian rushed in past her, meeting two more of Rudvich's men, pressing them back, into the main room of the house. Ramza and the others were already in there, fighting in darkness lit only by the occasional flash of faint moonlight on steel. From what little she could see, the Bart Company fellows were savage gutter fighters, men with little respect for the niceties of polite combat, but against trained soldiers, ex-Hokuten and St. Konoe, they fell like grain at harvest.

Afterwards, Ramza was the only one hurt. Again. A quick spell and a low chuckle from Jasmine healed him back up in short order.

As the dead began to crystallize, throwing pale ghostly light around the cramped space, Agrias turned to the only other person inside, a lean older man seated slumped against a corner wall. "Are you Mustadio's father?" she asked him without preamble. "I'm afraid he never told us your name."

The man nodded once. He looked to be just short of his twilight years, with a grim, hard look and a yellow beard scraping along his jaw and cheeks. "I'm Besrodio. Is my son with you?" Despite his appearance his voice was quiet, polite.

_Everyone from Goug has a funny name._ It hardly seemed amusing now, however, as she wondered how to give him the news. "No, he's not. We met him in Zaland and helped him keep the stone out of the hands of Bart Company. I'm Agrias Oaks, of... formerly of St. Konoe. Mustadio... we were escorting Princess Ovelia to Lionel, and some Nanten attacked to capture her, and... they killed him." She paused to swallow. He hadn't been a soldier; his eyes had been terrified at the thought of dying. "I... tried to save him, but couldn't."

Besrodio stared at her for a time without expression, then slowly lowered his head and placed it in his open hands. Agrias thinned her lips, glancing to the others, but Lavian simply shook her head, while Alicia toed at the ground. A few paces away, Ramza seemed to be scowling at the wall.

Long moments later the mechanic sighed and lifted his head. "Did... did he die well? Did they get the stone?"

Agrias met his gaze without smiling. "He was running. I told him not to fight, to try to escape if he could since the Nanten probably wouldn't have any interest in him, but they went after him anyway. And... we have the stone." As she spoke, she reached into her coat and produced Taurus, then held it out to the old man. "Maybe you should take it back. It's... you found it, I heard."

Besrodio's lined face clouded but he didn't reach for the stone, didn't try to stand either. Had they mistreated him? "If you're St. Konoe, guarding the Princess, what are you doing here?"

She shook her head. "The Princess is gone, to Zeltennia, and it's... sort of a long story, but I don't think we're welcome in public anymore. We...." She paused, frowning at the man, shifting her grip on golden Taurus. "Actually, we talked to Cardinal Draclau since we thought he was involved with trying to get this stone, and we ended up fighting and killing him. He had his own stone, Scorpio, and was... a demon."

"So you have two stones," he sighed. "What are you doing with them? Are you trying to collect them?"

Agrias glanced to Ramza, who stepped forward. "I'm... Ramza Beoulve," he began quietly. "We don't really have a plan. But frankly, something is going on with these things and I want find out who's collecting them. If need be, if people are plotting something evil with them, I'll kill every last stone holder and destroy the stones themselves."

Besrodio stared at Ramza for a moment, then shifted the expression to Agrias. "Is this true?"

She hesitated only briefly before nodding. _It's as good a plan as any now, without Ovelia to protect._ "It is. At least, we haven't really talked about it specifically, but I think it's a good idea."

The mechanic shook his head, gesturing Taurus back towards her. "Then you should keep that. I don't need it, and I won't be able to keep it away from Bart Company if they come for it again."

She blinked. "Are you sure?"

He nodded; a regretful expression crossed his weathered features. "I... can't walk well, young knight. I need a cane, and they didn't bring it here. I certainly can't fight."

Ramza dug into his belt pouch. "Speaking of Bart Company, I have to imagine they'll come after you again, so you should move. Leave Goug, maybe, go into hiding. Here." As he spoke he thrust his hand out with Rudvich's three rings glittering in his palm. "Take these and sell them. They should get you enough money to move somewhere."

Besrodio grimaced. "My lab... everything is here."

Ramza's gaze hardened. "Mustadio died to protect you, too. Not just the stone."

A brief silence followed as the older man frowned up at the younger, unoffended, apparently trying to read some manner of intentions in Ramza's dead eyes. Eventually he nodded. "I'll move. Are you sure you want to give me these, though?"

"They're not mine. Don't worry; I took them for you."

"Ah. Then, thank you." Besrodio gathered the rings from Ramza's hand and tucked them away somewhere on his person. "If one of you would be so kind, I need some help to rise, to walk, until I can get another cane."

Agrias jerked her head at the girls. Ramza was closer, but he was hardly nurturing enough to help a crippled man walk. "Lavian, why don't you--"

"Here," murmured Ramza, squatting, looping one of Besrodio's arms over his shoulders. "Let's get you up, shall we? I'll help." Open concern creased his face, and his voice was actually... gentle.

Agrias froze, open-mouthed, and just stared as the two men rose unsteadily to their feet. That was the first time she'd heard Ramza speak in anything other than a flat, bored or irritated tone, and the compassion on his face looked genuine.

"Can you walk?" he continued, supporting the mechanic with a hand on his far side. "Jasmine, can you see if there's something here that will serve as a cane?" The priestess nodded and set about rummaging through the piles of debris in the other corners of the main room.

"I can walk if you help," answered Besrodio, his voice just as quiet as Ramza's. "If... if she doesn't find anything, my lab isn't far."

"Don't worry. I'll accompany you anyway." Together Ramza and the other man shuffled towards the door. "Do you know where you want to go? I can make sure you're safe until you find a ship or a merchant wagon or something headed out of Goug."

As they headed for the door Agrias blinked and followed, only now remembering to stuff Taurus back into her pocket. A quick glance towards Alicia and Lavian showed them just as confused as she was. _Right. No anticipating._

* * *

Ramza sat at the edge of the _Water Spider's_ deck, arms folded across the lower railing, feet dangling towards the choppy waters. Every time the ship's bow pierced a swelling wave, salty spray peppered his face, his clothes. In every direction lay nothing but sea, sapphire waves stretching from horizon to horizon under a matching sky free of clouds. Supposedly they would arrive at Warjilis later today but he could see nothing of the shore. Only water and sky.

He'd never been on a ship before this. At first he'd been vaguely interested to see what it was like, but now it was just boring. At least traveling on land gave you things to look at. Things to take your mind off of all the stuff inside it.

As another wash of spray tickled into his face, footsteps whispered along the wooden deck towards him, and a pair of bold shadows angled across the railing beside him. Agrias and... Lavian. He didn't turn to face them.

"Ramza," began the Holy Knight, speaking loudly over the waves. "You should get out of the sun. Your skin is turning pink."

He shrugged. She'd been watching him so closely after leaving Goug he almost wished he hadn't helped Besrodio so much.

She sighed. "Can you turn around? We'd like to talk to you."

Planting hands on the railing, he did as she asked, spinning himself about on the deck until he was facing the two women. Or their silhouettes, as the sun hung almost directly behind Lavian's head. Grimacing, he held up a hand to ward off the brightness.

Fortunately they seated themselves as well, facing him, Agrias actually leaning against a coil of stacked rope. Neither wore armor today, nor even boots; the crew went about barefoot, and before long most in their party had followed suit. Agrias had very pale feet, even more pale than the rest of her.

When neither spoke, he scowled. "What?"

"What you told Besrodio," frowned the Holy Knight, "about the stones... is that what you really want to do?"

"What, collect them?" He shrugged, squinting off past the bow of the ship, letting the wind carry some measure of relief to his face. "Yeah. I don't care who has them, but if they're demons, if they're manipulating politics and starting wars, they have to die."

Neither answered right away, but shortly Agrias spoke. "Good. We'll help. We've talked it over and all three of us are of the opinion that that's how we can help Ivalice best right now."

_How very noble._ He kept the scorn from his face and instead just nodded at her. "All three? Where's Alicia?"

"Belowdecks. She... doesn't do well with ships." Agrias' lips quirked.

"What about your friends?" wondered Lavian in that low, almost sultry voice. "Are they willing to do this too?"

"Yeah."

One delicate eyebrow rose. "Have you even talked to them about it?"

Sighing, he sat upright, then cupped hands to his lips. "Knox! Jasmine, Vector!"

The three, playing dice a short distance away, turned to face him. Jasmine smiled, while the men wore serious expressions. A pair of tanned and shirtless crewmen slipped around them, doing... whatever it was the crew kept doing on seafaring ships.

"Do you want to find out who has all the stones and collect them? If they're being used to start a war?"

Jasmine's grin widened. "Sure." Vector smiled as well, while Knox simply gave a thumbs-up.

Ramza relaxed against the railing again. "There."

Lavian shook her head, though he suspected she was amused. "Fine."

Beside her, Agrias pursed her lips, then shrugged. "Well, I suppose that settles it. If we're going to be docking later today, then, I'm going to get my stuff ready and get armored." Unfolding to her feet, she turned and padded off towards the stairs belowdecks.

Ramza stared after her for a moment, then gazed off over the sea. A chuckle from Lavian, however, brought his scowling attention back to her. "What?"

The knight shrugged, brushing short black hair back from her face, then quirked a grin. "You were watching Agrias for a while, there. You never stare at her so much when she knows you're looking."

He met her gaze until she glanced away, still smiling, and only then answered. "I've never seen either of you out of armor before. It's strange to be reminded that you look like women."

"Oh, come on. We change out of armor every night before sleeping."

"But it's dark then."

"You're so innocent. Have you ever seen a woman naked?"

His jaw clenched. "No."

Lavian chuckled, a smoky sound. She hadn't tanned out in the sun, but had developed tiny little freckles dotting her nose and cheeks instead. "Well, I'll let Agrias know. I doubt she'll strip for you -- she's rather reserved, really -- but you never know until you ask, right?"

Razma took a deep breath, trying not to glare at the knight. He'd been the butt of enough teasing -- and had seen enough elsewhere -- to know that telling her to stop would only earn more of the same. Perhaps a different approach, then. "Don't read too much into it," he commanded flatly. "If you'd left first, I'd have stared at you instead."

"Me, huh?" Lavian frowned at this, crystal-blue eyes thoughtful, then rubbed hands down her sides, over slim hips. The coat and breeches she wore, plain brown wool, didn't suit her figure well but didn't hide it either. "Well. I'm maybe a little different from Agrias. But you'd still have to ask awfully nicely if you want to see what I've got out here, in the open."

"Don't flatter yourself." Tearing his gaze from hers, he stared off towards the bow of the ship, where he could see frothing waves between the supports holding the railing up.

She didn't answer. Stiff wind rippled the _Spider's_ canvas sails, carried seaspray that glittered in the sunlight.

Eventually, though, Lavian sighed. "Ramza, you're... you try to make people think you're a jerk, but you don't have to try to keep fooling us. We know you well enough now to decide for ourselves. I don't think you're a bad person."

He scowled at the distant waves. "Then I guess you don't know me after all."

"If you mean your history, your relations... then it's true, I suppose I don't." She paused. "But a man's actions speak much of his character, Ramza. I know what kind of person you are, even if I don't know the facts of your past."

Letting his head thump against the railing, he let his eyes slide shut. "What do you want?" he whispered.

Gentle fingers alighted briefly on his knee before retreating. "Nothing. Just to talk to you."

He nodded but didn't open his eyes. Wind tugged at his hair, drove pinpricks of water into his face.

"If you don't want to talk," murmured the woman, "I'll leave you alone. But remember that we're your friends now. You can treat us as such, if you want." Clothes whispered together as she climbed to her feet, and shortly bare footsteps carried her almost silently away.

Ramza let out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding, but still didn't open his eyes. He liked Alicia better. At least she hated him.

* * *

Afternoon sunlight glared in Agrias' eyes and the wind tugged at her hair as she stepped onto the pier in Warlijis. After being so long on a ship, the absence of motion on solid ground threw her stomach for a loop. She ignored it, though, instead turning to watch the rest of her companions descending the wobbling gangplank from the ship. Though most had little difficulty, Alicia's drawn face looked more pale than usual, and Lavian seemed to be trying not to smile at her expense.

Once everyone was on the salt-damp stone of the pier she nodded. "Let's go. With this many people we need to find an inn early, before they all fill up." White gulls circled overhead, nearly drowning out her speech with their shrill cries.

Nods and muttered agreement met this pronouncement, so without further delay she turned, hefted the pack on her shoulder and set off down the pier, towards land. Ahead loomed the city of Warjilis, crowded with buildings and people, bristling with peaks and towers.

Ramza fell in beside her without a word, scowling at the stone under his feet. Finger-length golden bangs fell over his creased forehead, nearly obscuring his eyes, concealing his thoughts.

Agrias thinned her lips momentarily and fixed her gaze on the pier ahead. She wasn't certain if Ramza was somehow acting more cold than normal, as if to make up for his kindness to Besrodio, or if it only seemed like it because she held him to a higher standard after seeing that he could be gentle.

Snorting, she shook her head. _I'm thinking about it too much._ "Hey, Ramza."

"Mmm."

"I want to spend the rest of the day running errands, not looking for an inn. So I say, let's just find a dockside place and then I can go get us some equipment." The chocos they'd stolen from Lionel had earned a fair bit of gil when they'd sold them after less than a day.

"Sure."

She rolled her eyes. "You don't care, do you? I could have said anything and you'd have agreed."

"I suppose."

Agrias smiled slightly at this but it didn't last long. _The only reason I'm deciding where we sleep is because he doesn't care enough to do it._ The realization was a soft one, unsurprising, but she suspected it was true. In battle, she'd noticed, or when in danger, something seemed to light up inside him, widening his eyes and filling him with the energy and decisiveness he lacked at all other times. _I wonder what he'd be like if he were like that all the time._

The walk into and through the city provided no answers to her idle rumination. She opted for the first inn she saw that didn't look like a total dive, and didn't even bother to check its name. The faded wooden sign over the door showed a ship and an anchor, though every other place in the harbor district probably had a variation of the same.

Inside, a fat and balding innkeeper nodded briskly as she approached the bar. Then he blinked and gaped, pale green eyes going almost comically wide. He probably didn't see many Holy Knights here.

"Three rooms," she told him, rummaging around in her belt pouch. "And meals for... seven people."

"O... Okay," breathed the man, nodding quickly. "Anything else? Baths?"

She shrugged. If people wanted more, they could buy it themselves.

"Okay," nodded the innkeeper again. "It'll be just... only a few... Daisy! Rooms!" Turning, he grabbed a passing serving girl by the wrist and nodded towards the stairs. "Three rooms for these... our honored...." Without waiting for him to finish stammering, the girl nodded once, spared a harried glance at the party, then hurried upstairs.

Turning her back to the bar, Agrias faced her companions. "I want to get what stuff we need now so we don't have to waste time tomorrow morning doing it. Anyone else want to come along?" The other patrons in the place, perhaps two dozen scattered among ten tables, ignored her completely.

Alicia rolled her shoulders. "I'll come," she muttered. "I could use some fresh air."

Agrias quirked a smile. "I'm not sure that the air in the markets will be any fresher than in here. And in any case, you were just on a ship, surrounded by fresh air."

"Don't remind me," growled the knight, cutting her eyes away. "Let's just go."

Unslinging her pack, Agrias handed it over to Lavian, then strode for the door. Alicia followed.

The golden sun hanging in the west blinded her between two-story shops and inns as they roamed Warjilis in search of supplies. Potions and various medicines topped the list of what she wanted, of course, but following shortly after that came equipment and a two-hour crawl from armorer to weaponsmith to outfitter, all in search of affordable replacements and upgrades. Twice she had to pull Alicia away from inspecting fine swords they couldn't afford.

On the way back to the inn, the redhead grunted and shifted her grip around a bulging armful of weapons and armor. "Why do _I_ have to carry all of this stuff?"

Agrias smiled down the street. "Because I kept handing things to you and you didn't stop me."

"Well, forget that," decided the other woman. "You can carry some of these swords. They're a little unwieldy."

Accepting two weapons, Agrias spared her companion a glance. "Was that a pun?"

"What? Oh, _God_, no. What do you take me for?"

With a chuckle, Agrias shouldered through the door to the inn. "Just figured I'd...." Once inside, however, she trailed off with a scowl. Noise, shouting, a knot of violent pushing and shoving. People were fighting. Again.

_Ramza. _"Damn it." Grimacing, she darted forward, through a handful of curious spectators, past the frantically-waving innkeeper, and pushed her way to the center of the commotion where, sure enough, Ramza was sprawled on his backside on the floor and clutching a bleeding split in his scalp. Three men hovered around him, kicking him while he was down; as she watched, a fourth fellow grabbed a nearby empty chair, then swung it down at Ramza's head.

Agrias got there first, and the chair shattered into kindling against her shield. The chair-wielder, now holding just a few pieces of splintered wood, blinked at his hands, while the others eyed her cautiously. Specifically, the three swords now on her person.

She took the choice from them. Snarling, she bared a hand's width of steel of the sword in her scabbard. "Go away."

The four men exchanged uncertain glances, one nursing a split knuckle. Then, without a word, the shortest among them turned to go and the rest followed, disappearing through the common room crowd somewhere towards the door. The crowd began dissolving into murmuring knots of people as the inn's customers resumed their meals.

Almost immediately the innkeeper hurried over and began wringing his hands. "Is everyone okay?" he breathed, glancing at Ramza but addressing Agrias. "I didn't see how it started, but Neal -- my bouncer -- tried to break it up, and one of them knocked him over the head with something." Indeed, a burly man lay a short distance away on the wooden floor, groaning as he touched a lump on his temple.

Agrias shook her head and sighed. "I'm... sorry for the disturbance here. I didn't think it was... look, I'll pay you for the damage. Here." Digging into her nearly-empty coinpurse, she found a few coins and held them out to the man. "That should cover the chair and... anything else broken. We can find a different inn if you want." Alicia stepped up beside her, glaring wordlessly at the dazed Ramza.

"No, no! That's quite alright!" The man donned a weak smile, then rubbed sweat from his brow. "You've paid for your rooms and I can't believe your man would have started a fight against four others, so once Cindy cleans up the... uh, the blood, everything will be fine."

_Just like that; everything's fine. He wants to keep us here because we're high-profile._ Agrias spread her hands, conceding the matter. "As you please. Again, I'm sorry for all the trouble." As she spoke, rapid motion pulled her eye to the stairway, where a hurrying Vector and Knox emerged and glanced around in alarm.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all," smiled the innkeeper. "A pleasant evening to you all." Bowing, he turned and wandered back towards the bar.

Ramza's old friends instantly took the man's place, however. Vector's face crumpled at the sight of the bloodied man on the floor. "Aww, Ramza, what are you doing?"

Ramza squinted up in confusion; his eyes seemed unable to focus, and streaks of crimson painted his forehead. "Who... Vector?"

Knox squatted down beside the beaten fellow and gripped his head in huge gentle hands, turning it this way and that as he inspected it. "Ramza, you're hurt pretty badly. Can you stand?"

The Beoulve swallowed with difficulty, then pressed a shaking hand to his head. "I'm... I don't...."

Vector sighed. "Come on. Let's get you to Jasmine."

Ramza groaned. "No. No Jasmine."

"Yes, Jasmine," insisted Vector, tucking an arm under Ramza's shoulder. "I heard what happened. When a woman wants to help her, you let her help you. Even if you think it's foolish."

"Anyway," added Knox quietly, "we need to get you out of the common room, to someplace quiet."

As the two men helped Ramza sit upright, Agrias rubbed her forehead tiredly. "What I don't get," she muttered, "is how a guy can cut people down so brutally on the battlefield, but then lose a tavern fight. I mean, granted, four on one, but those guys weren't even armed."

Though she'd been addressing Alicia, the two ex-Hokuten froze instead, exchanging wordless glances. Then Knox swiveled his head to stare at her, brown eyes soulful and serious. "He's not fighting to win."

"Come on, Ramza," urged Vector softly. "Let's get you to your feet, shall we?"

"Feet," moaned Ramza. "Up... upstairs. Yeah."

Agias watched with a frown as the three of them hobbled towards the stairs, Ramza little more than dead weight between the two others. As soon as he was up, one of the inn's girls appeared with a bucket and washrag, then knelt to clean up the crimson splatters on the floor.

Alicia grunted, shifting her arms around the goods once more. "Making people clean up after him. What a jerk."

Once the men were out of sight, Agrias gave the younger woman a dark glance. "Put those upstairs, why don't you. Then we can finally get something to eat."

* * *

Ramza sat in the inn's private dining room, avoiding the urge to grimace and touch his head. Potions and magic could erase injuries as easily as pushing back the hands of a clock, but they didn't fix everything. At the moment his head pounded as though someone had beaten it with rocks, which, for all he knew, someone might have actually been doing during the fight a few hours ago.

Everyone else had stuffed themselves into the room, making it as hot as it was tight. On his right sat Knox, perched almost delicately on the edge of a ladder-backed chair as though afraid his weight might crush it, which seemed entirely possible. On his other side sat Alicia, arms crossed, legs folded, glaring at him; in the room's stillness, a few errant curls of red hair stuck to one freckled cheek. Between himself and the two knights, his corner of the room smelled vaguely of metal. The rest of his companions filled out the circle after Alicia, a lounging Agrias, smiling Jasmine, Vector shifting constantly on his seat, Lavian leaning on crossed arms over the back of her backwards chair.

They were all watching him. Expectantly.

Face tight, he lowered his head, letting his bangs obscure his eyes. Pain throbbed in his skull with every impatient heartbeat.

Eventually Agrias sighed. "So. Just to make sure, sort of officially, we're all planning to hunt down the Zodiac stones, right? Find whomever has them all and, if necessary, kill them, and maybe destroy the stones?"

"Yeah." Jasmine's voice was low, almost smoky, but serious all the same. "Someone needs to, and while I don't see why it should be us specifically, I doubt anyone else will bother to do so. Or even believe us if we were to lay the situation before them."

"Well," murmured Lavian, "we do have Scorpio and Taurus. If we're looking to talk to people, two stones might count as some sort of proof."

Jasmine smiled at the other woman, teeth bared. "Who says they're not just ordinary gemstones, though? Are you going to turn into a demon just to prove they do what we say they do?"

Lavian arched a cool eyebrow. "They have the Zodiac symbols etched into them. They're known to exist already. We were already seen stealing one from Draclau's office. Do you think someone will really just believe they're fake stones we've carved with the correct symbols?"

Jasmine's smile disappeared. "Well, we might still just be thieves. The presence of the stones doesn't prove that they're evil, so why--"

"This is stupid," muttered Agrias, rubbing her forehead. "The question is whether we're committed to this course of action, not how to go about it or how easy it will be."

Jasmine waited for the Holy Knight to finish, then stared at her lap, mouth twisted. After a moment Lavian gave her head a toss and nodded. "Okay, true. Well, I'm for it. I think we all are. Am I wrong?" She paused, blue eyes blinking patiently from face to face around the circle, but nobody disagreed.

Agrias offered a brisk nod. "Good. Now, how to go about it? We don't really know anything, except that Funeral might know more than Draclau did, and might not. Don't look at me like that, Alicia; it's entirely possible Draclau was acting on his own, though I personally doubt it. So assuming we can't make a frontal assault on Murond -- I can't believe I'm saying this -- to question Funeral, we're left with either trying to sneak in or trying to gather help from other people. I favor the latter, but what does everyone else think?"

Ramza sighed. "I know a guy."

Agrias eyed him, frowning. "And? Who is he?"

"An old friend. Guy I grew up with."

Jasmine chewed a lip. "Do you mean Delita?"

He nodded. "He might help."

His old Hokuten companions exchanged unreadable glances. After a moment Knox tilted his head. "I thought he stayed on with you after you disbanded the squad. What happened? You must have parted ways."

"He... has ambitious goals." _To say the least._ Smothering another sigh, Ramza continued. "He pulled me aside one day and said everyone in power was corrupt, so he wanted to replace them all and start doing things right. If the other stone owners are among the people he wants to get rid of, he might be an ally."

A brief silence met this before Agrias nodded. "Fair enough. Is he competent? Do you know where he is?"

Ramza shrugged. "He studied with me at Gariland and was probably better at me in... I think just about everything. And I doubt he's with the Hokuten anymore, after Fort Zeakden. Of the remaining two powers, the Nanten hate us less than the Church does right now, so... let's try Zeltennia."

Agrias pursed her lips at this. "Works for me. I want to get out of this room and get some sleep anyway. Tomorrow we're off for Zeltennia."


	6. Players and Pieces

_Today I didn't even have to use my A.K.  
I gotta say it was a good day.  
_-- Ice Cube, "It Was A Good Day"

Chapter Six: Players and Pieces

Agrias planted one boot at the peak of another hill and paused to take a breath. A grassy rock-studded slope stretched below her, and without doubt another one was waiting just beyond the brief plateau ahead. This part of Ivalice seemed like nothing but one hill after another, all steep, all tall. And they'd sold the chocobos they'd gotten from Lionel. Of course, that had been the right idea -- taking them across the channel to Goug, not to mention by ship to Warjilis, would have been a pain -- and the resulting gil had helped significantly in buying new equipment. _I just hate walking up these damn hills._

As she stood in place, a panting Lavian spared her a weary grin as she shuffled past. "Can't get too tired yet, Agrias. It's barely midday."

"Oh, shut it." The other woman chuckled, and Agrias dragged herself back into motion, suppressing a grimace. Wearing half her own weight in weapons and armor likely wasn't helping matters.

_They both call me Agrias now,_ she reflected as the hilltop turned into another precarious downward slope. _Not 'captain.' But they're right. If anyone's the captain of this little band, it's him, not me._

Ramza trudged along beside her, face drawn but displaying no other signs of fatigue. Knox followed beside him and a half-step behind, also stoically enduring the rocky descent. Behind both hurried Vector, grimacing and muttering under his breath, while beside him Jasmine simply seemed lost in thought. Alicia strode briskly along at the front as though to be anywhere else in these hills would be an admission of weakness.

Agrias found her attention drawn quickly back to Ramza, however. Just from his appearance, it was impossible to tell that he'd been in a fight the day before. _Honestly. What's with him?_ "Ramza."

"What?" Eyes the color of bronze didn't so much as flicker in her direction as he picked his way down the rocky slope.

She regarded him for a silent moment, then shifted her scowling attention to the lumpy ground ahead. "You drink too much."

His lips curled, and an expression of open disgust crossed his tanned face before it slipped back to its usual blankness. "I don't drink at all."

Her scowled deepened. _He's joking, right? How do you get into barfights without even drinking?_ "What are you talking about?"

He shook his head and didn't bother to answer. A capricious breeze swirled grass and pink wildflowers, whispered through leafy tree boughs forty paces away.

Suddenly uncertain, Agrias likewise opted for silence. A quick glance around the faces of the party, especially Ramza's old friends, revealed nothing but the weary tedium of travel and maybe a little boredom. No surprise, no disbelief. He was telling the truth, then.

_Well, that's even worse,_ she decided with a sigh. _At least if he were drunk I could chalk it up to the liquor. This way, his judgement's just that bad all the time._ "You fight too much. You need to stop it." No one on a mission as serious as theirs, let alone the man more or less in command of it, should set such a poor example.

"I know. You're right." His voice was soft, almost lost to the murmur of the breeze.

Chewing a lip, she let the subject drop. Up ahead, Alicia half-turned to give her a silent look of brown-eyed agreement.

With another sigh, Agrias adjusted her sword in its scabbard and continued on, choosing her footing with care on the dangerous slope. Nobody else said anything either, or even acknowledged the conversation. _Probably all wiser than me, then._

* * *

Up through Lionel territory, around the castle itself. Into Gallione for a time, through Dorter, then angling northward, towards Goland, then through it. A turn towards the east. Always slow moving, with no chocobos, with long stops or detours to avoid the notice of the law. Wherever the law happened to care.

At times Ramza wished he carried a map, if only so he could ink out his meandering trail through Ivalice, just to see how much pointless backtracking and circling around he'd done. But the desire was idle, and never struck when he was in a city with coin to spend on whims.

Not that the lack of gil was turning out to be a problem; apparently, with him now a wanted man, bounty hunters were after him. While nominally a bad thing, being hunted for reward did carry one significant advantage, in that the average professional bounty hunter carried rather more in his coinpurse than the average brigand. As such, a trail of ambitious dead men marked their passage northward across Ivalice, and Ramza and his companions found themselves with more and better equipment than they'd been expecting to wear. The occasional attack by mere monsters actually provided something of a relief from the monotony of slaughtering other people.

"So," declared Agrias one night in the noisy common room of their inn in Bervenia, "that fighting, huh? Sounds pretty bad."

Ramza nodded, tightening fingers on the handle of his milk mug without actually lifting it off the table. Rumors had spread like wildfire about a clash between the Hokuten and Nanten somewhere in the southeast. Bethla, maybe. Or Gulofavia. Nobody seemed certain, and he was no longer in a position to hear any official reports, but supposedly the dead numbered in the millions. While that was clearly absurd, a figure in the hundreds of thousands wouldn't have surprised him. _What, two hundred thousand dead? Four hundred? That's like... like rounding up everyone in and around Igros and putting them under the blade._

Knox shifted in his chair, and it creaked under his weight. "It's a war now. For real."

"You don't say," murmured Lavian dryly, brushing short black hair away from her face. "I knew there was a word for that, when a lot of guys kill a lot of other guys."

"Yeah?" Knox frowned into his ale, while all around a buzz of conversation nearly drowned out his voice. "How's that bruise coming on your thigh?"

Lavian blinked at this, then directed a rueful smile at the table. "It's, um... yeah, I'll get you for that, you know."

Closing his eyes, Ramza lifted his mug and took another sip of milk. One night Alicia had called Knox's abilities into question, in somewhat impolite terms, so the two had squared off to spar. The redhead's greater skill had balanced out Knox's greater strength, and the two had fought to an eventual draw, though Alicia seemed to think she'd won. The next night they'd done it again, with Lavian joining, and the night after that Vector and Agrias had as well. For fun, they'd claimed. Ramza still had problems thinking of Agrias and fun at the same time, but the woman did appear to enjoy the practice. In any case, Lavian liked to grapple, and with Knox being both very strong and very hard to move, the predictable had happened. A few potions had largely healed her up afterwards, though.

"Right." Knox took a swallow of ale, then gazed with apparent disinterest at a trio of Limberry merchants a few tables away. "I'm worried."

Lavian's answering grin lit up her face like sudden mischievous lightning. "You should be. I'm--"

"Hello? The war?" Agrias' blue eyes regarded the other woman with unconcealed disgust. "Did you forget that part already?"

Lavian shrugged. "It's been going on for weeks, Agrias. What do you want us to do about it?"

"Yeah." Alicia scowled at something on her sleeve as she brushed it off. "Old news."

"Well, now it's escalating," countered the Holy Knight evenly. "And I really doubt it's going to stop there. Ivalice hasn't finished recovering from the last war, and already it's fighting itself."

"_Because_ it hasn't recovered," offered Jasmine quietly, chewing a lip.

Agrias nodded at the priestess. "Probably. So what are we going to do about it?"

A moment of silence followed this before Vector cleared his throat. "What do you mean, do?"

Agrias sighed. Beyond her, somewhere among the crowd, two men started arguing loudly. "Think about it," she suggested. "Draclau was helping both the Nanten and the Hokuten, maybe playing them against each other. And now they're fighting. And he had a stone."

"So?" wondered Vector.

"Well, we...." Agrias paused, frowning, eyes sliding sideways in calculation. "Well, it's probably all connected, and we need to do something about it."

"We are," pointed out Knox. "Aren't we? That's what this whole thing with the stones is about."

Lavian nodded. "We've already had this conversation, haven't we, Agrias? At least once before."

The Holy Knight gazed at the younger woman for a moment, then made a face and rubbed her forehead tiredly. "Yeah, you're... yeah, that's true. I guess just hearing about all the casualties just sort of... made me mad."

"Mad," agreed Ramza, resting his chin in one open palm and staring at the tabletop.

Agrias' head swiveled towards him. "You think we can stop it?"

He blinked but didn't lift his gaze. "What, the war?" When she didn't answer, he shrugged and lifted his mug for another swallow of milk. It was getting warm; he'd have to finish it soon. "I'm concentrating on the stones. If that fixes the war, good. If not... there's really not a lot we can do about it."

Alicia gave her head a toss. "I don't see how making sure no one uses the stones will 'fix' the war."

He shrugged again. She did, in fact, see how it would work. Or at least they'd been over it before. If the people driving the war were, like Draclau, the same ones holding the stones, once the stones were collected the whole mess would basically... sort itself out. In theory. And if not... then at least he'd done his part. _She's just trying to pick an argument again. Brat._

"You still need to learn to answer people when they talk to you, Iceman," growled the redhead. "One day you're going to offend someone who can pound you into the ground."

_That's probably true._ He didn't look at Alicia, though, just sipped again from his milk.

"Whatever," muttered Agrias from across the table. "I'm going to bed." The table shifted as she pushed herself to her feet.

Before she could leave, however, a man in white-and-red priest robes appeared from a swirl in the common room crowd. "Ramza Beoulve?" His voice was quiet but cool, and the hood over his head hung low enough to conceal most of his face, leaving only the hard line of his mouth visible to the room.

Ramza paused, fist still gripping his mug, moving only his eyes to gaze up at the other man. Then he darted quick, narrow glances to either side, gauging his open room, the number of people nearby. Alicia to his left, Knox to his right, his back to the wall. _No, not here. Too crowded._ "Yes?" Around the table, his companions divided their attention between himself and the other fellow, most showing visible unease. Agrias' icy eyes were fixed on the priest.

"Someone wants to talk to you," explained the robed man plainly. "Outside." Without another word he turned, then strode for the door, red-toothed hem fluffing out with every step.

_Yes. Outside would be better. More room, fewer witnesses._ Downing the last of his milk, Ramza stood.

Agrias flowed in front of him, placing a warning hand on his chest. Her eyes were hard sapphires staring into his own. "Don't be a moron, Ramza. That guy's a priest, and with the bounty on you, and your heretic status, they have no reason to...."

He silenced her with a withering glare, then brushed past her armored shoulder and followed in the wake of the priest's passage. His friends hurried to catch up, Vector tossing a few gil onto the table as he left.

Outside in the moonlit night, he found just what he expected, a half-dozen fighters in the street, surrounding an ancient and bejeweled fat man in fine clergy robes. The priest from inside made his way to the leader's side, while the old man himself took a pompous step forward.

"I'm Zalmo Lusnada, Heresy Examiner!" he declared. "I order you to appear at a hearing on suspicion of murder and heresy! You will follow us now, and any resistance on your part will force us to execute you immediately!"

Faces went suddenly and dangerously blank among Ramza's companions but he ignored them, instead stepping towards the inquisitor. The Church muscle ghosted closer as he moved, though none approached within his reach. Zalmo's smug expression watched his progress.

Once he was two steps from the fat man, Ramza stopped. Above, a few thin clouds drifted lazily across the sky, obscuring the stars behind them. A warm breeze ruffled his hair.

Shortly Zalmo opened his mouth again, but Ramza didn't let him speak. Turning the act of drawing into a strike, he cut into the priest's midsection, earning him a startled grunt and a spray of blood. Immediately his friends leapt into action, hacking at the Church warriors, who responded in kind.

Nobody said a word. The battle proceeded through a soft chorus of shuffling boots, whispering metal and labored breathing.

In moments all the Church types had fallen save for Zalmo, as had Vector and Lavian. Ramza let Jasmine tend to his friends and instead advanced on the rasping and doubled-over Heresy Examiner.

"You... you heretic!" growled the man, clutching the bleeding wound in his stomach. As much anger as pain contorted his wrinkled face, and his breath bubbled wetly. "You don't fear God! I'll fix you!" Growling, he turned to hobble away.

Ramza followed without speaking, using both hands to push the old man down to the uneven cobblestones. While Zalmo struggled to rise, Ramza crouched to plant a knee in the man's back, then pulled his head up. One slice from his sword spilled another pool of warm blood into the silent street.

Letting the body flop to the ground, Ramza examined his hands. As usual, they were slicked with blood, some half-drying already, but this time most of his clothes were stained as well, arms, legs, everything. His shirt, which had once been a modest blue, was now mostly black, and glittered with reflected moonlight in several places. Vaguely he could recall a time when having blood on his hands had seemed to matter.

With a shake of his head he cleaned his blade on the dead man's garments, then slid it back into its scabbard. Turning, he rose to his feet, only to stumble almost immediately into Knox's arms. His head swam dizzily for a moment while he clutched at the big man's cloak.

"God, Ramza," breathed Jasmine, hurrying over to him. "You can barely stand. How much of that blood is yours?"

"I don't know," he muttered, pushing free of Knox, though the knight remained hovering protectively nearby. "A lot, I think." He hadn't paid much attention to the wounds he'd taken, certainly not enough to count them.

Jasmine sighed and stepped within his reach. Gentle hands touched him, tugged apart gashes in his clothes to inspect the wounds underneath.

Just as gently, he pushed her arms away and eyed the rest of his group; six faces stared back at him, waiting. "Everybody, get your stuff. We need to be gone from here."

* * *

Inside Zeltennia castle, it was surprisingly bright. Walls of bold grey granite, tall open windows, rectangles of golden midday sunlight slanting across hard floors. Not as opulent as Lesalia, nor as stark as Igros.

Agrias walked beside Ramza down a length of hallway as straight as a sword's edge. The squire ahead of them, a boy no older than fourteen or fifteen, had seemed almost ready to cry on explaining that he would be taking them to this Delita fellow. The guards at the front gate had nearly fallen over when Ramza had introduced himself. Wide-eyed stares had followed their progress through the bustling city before that, though no one had accosted them.

Perhaps they were afraid to. _What the hell are they telling people about him, here?_ she wondered, shaking her head. _Heretic Ramza eats babies. He breathes fire and has four arms and slays a maiden every night, just on principle._

Or, she reflected after a moment, perhaps there was simply no standing order to capture him, with Delita a figure of some apparent importance here. And with the Church's influence somewhat thin this far east, there might be fewer people willing to get tangled up in a Glabados-imposed bounty if it wasn't backed up by the local authorities.

In any case, however, people's reactions to Ramza, or lack thereof, was not what worried her at the moment. It was Ramza himself. When the page at the castle gate had explained that Delita would allow the visit only if Ramza brought at most one other person with him, a peculiar expression had crossed the Beoulve's face. He'd pondered the matter for a moment under the angry sun, then had spoken her name, and then they were in.

_Why didn't he choose someone like Knox? Or, if he wanted advice, Jasmine? Why me? I doubt he trusts me as much as he trusts them._ The answer, however, was clear: he thought there might be fighting. With his friend.

She shook her head again. _This feels like when we went to meet Draclau._ Seeking an audience with an unknown figure, uncertain if the day would bring bloodshed or benefit, or both. _Maybe Delita has a stone too._ She almost snorted at that before stopping herself.

At her side, Ramza walked as though to his own execution, head down, eyes half-shut, steps dragging. Every now and then he scowled and lifted his eyes as though remembering to look strong, but in moments his demeanor would always shift back to one of dread.

Agrias gave her mouth a twist. _This guy must be some friend._

Before long the squire spun about to face the two of them, then bowed and gestured towards an open doorway leading to grass and sunlight. A courtyard, then. "In... in there, if you would," whispered the boy, swallowing, not meeting their gazes. "He's waiting in there."

Without even a glance of acknowledgement Ramza turned and strode though the doorway. Agrias gave the squire what she hoped was a reassuring smile as she did the same.

The courtyard, she saw, was... _spacious_ would be the word for it. Perhaps eighty paces square, it enclosed a waving sea of uncut golden-green grass, a handful of smallish maple trees clustered in one corner, and the crumbling remains of what looked to have been a shrine or small church at one point. No soldiers, though; she frowned at that. With Delita allowing only two armed visitors near him, she'd expected....

_Oh my God. That's him! And... her!_ Eyes widening, gloved hands clutching the hilt of her sword, she stopped in her tracks. Of the three people strolling into view from around the back of the church, she recognized two. The first, the one who naturally drew the eyes, was a dark-haired fellow radiating confidence and sporting fine golden armor. She hadn't seen him in weeks. Not since he'd kidnapped Ovelia and his people killed Mustadio. _That's him? Ramza's friend is the guy who attacked us?_

Before she could ponder the mystery further, her eyes snapped to the better-dressed of the two women with him. _And there she is, just standing there, like he's not an enemy._ Ovelia stood beside Delita, hands clasped at her chest, a nervous smile on her pale face. If she was still in captivity, at least they seemed to be treating her well; she hadn't grown skinny from lack of food or any such thing, and both her clothes and person looked to be in good condition, with her hair once again spilling like spun gold down past her shoulders. _She probably has it easier here than she did with us,_ reflected Agrias sourly. _At least she's not covered in mud now._ The second woman, about the same size as Ovelia, nevertheless could have been her opposite. Dark hair and eyes, tanned skin, a relaxed and content posture. Clad in a simple but well-made violet dress, she stood close to Delita as though very familiar with him. A lover, perhaps, or sister or friend.

"Yes, it's Ovelia," muttered Ramza beside her, gripping her arm just above the elbow so he could pull her back into motion. "But get a hold of yourself. The Delita I know wouldn't have put conditions on my meeting with him, so I don't know what to expect from him now. Don't show any weakness."

Jerking her arm free of his grasp, Agrias cleared a scowl from her face and kept up her pace beside the man. _He doesn't get it, does he? Hasn't put two and two together to realize this Delita was the guy who attacked us._ With a sigh she did as he asked, put aside her anger in favor of a more mundane suspicion, one appropriate around any sort of dangerous man.

When she and Ramza were three paces from the others, he stopped and so did she. Delita did likewise, crossing arms over his chest, with the two women taking up position on either side of him.

"Ramza." Delita's smile was glittering, with perfect teeth, and cold.

Ramza nodded, hazel eyes fixed on the other man. "Delita. You look good."

Delita's smile widened slightly. "You've looked better."

Ramza didn't answer immediately, only studied his old friend, who examined him in turn. Wind rippled through the courtyard, swirled in the corners, stirring waves into the grass and ruffling hair and garments all around.

Agrias felt her eyes narrow as she glanced between the two men. Neither's expression had changed; Razma stared at Delita with a sort of dead intensity, while the Holy Knight returned his attention with an unmoving smile. _My God. They're trying to decide if they're enemies, aren't they? Deciding whether they should kill each other._ Before she knew it she was gripping her sword's hilt again, but she made no move to draw.

Eventually Delita chuckled. "Who's your friend?"

"Agrias Oaks," answered Ramza. "St. Konoe. Agrias, that girl is Teta. Delita's sister." He ignored Ovelia completely.

Teta smiled warmly, dark eyes glittering. "Pleased to meet you."

Agrias nodded once, meeting the girl's eye briefly but otherwise keeping her attention warily on Delita. "Likewise."

"So," exhaled Delita, uncrossing his arms only to tuck his thumbs under his belt. "What brings you to Zeltennia?" Beside him, Ovelia's wide eyes tracked the conversation, and the nervous smile stayed on her face.

Ramza turned his head a hair sideways, and his face assumed an expression of calculation. "Did you mean what you said about us working together? Earlier?"

Delita cocked an eyebrow at this. "Maybe. Have something in mind?"

Ramza paused, gaze flickering across the two women before returning to Delita. He seemed to be weighing his words, perhaps choosing how much to say in front of anyone else. "What are you doing now? Working for the Nanten?"

"The Nanten," shrugged the other man. "The Church. Shrine Knights. A little of this, a little of that. Why do you ask?"

"What do you know about Cardinal Draclau?"

"I heard you killed him. Very interesting. Wouldn't have thought you had it in you to attack a man of the cloth."

Ramza's face cooled. "Did you know he was working with both the Hokuten and the Nanten?"

"Oh?" Delita stroked his chin. "I may have heard that somewhere."

"He couldn't be trusted," continued Ramza. "He had his own plans about things, and... he actually attacked us, you know. I thought you might want to know that, if you're with both the Nanten and the Church."

Delita's smile disappeared. "I don't care." Dark eyes bored into Ramza's. "He was a loose end and you tied it up for me. I should be thanking you." As he spoke, Teta's face darkened and she directed a scowl at the side of his head; though Delita affected not to notice, he shifted his feet under her visible displeasure.

"So the Church," noted Ramza, ignoring the byplay, "was manipulating the war. Probably still is. Working with the Hokuten trying to kill me, then handing Ovelia off to the Nanten, knowing they'd take her here and try to get her on the throne. They haven't lifted a sword, but all of this blood I've been hearing about, it's all on their hands."

"Ah. You don't say."

Ramza frowned. "What are you doing, Delita?"

The other man cocked his head at this question, then pursed his lips. "Ramza, why are you here? Just to tell me about Draclau?"

Ramza's eyes flickered towards Agrias for some reason before he answered. "You wanted me to help you earlier, when we were still with Gafgarion. I think we should work together. Identify the people pushing the war. Identify and kill."

Delita didn't react to this, only stood there with his head tilted, apparently thinking. Beside him, Ovelia watched him with a concerned frown, while Teta merely examined her hands in apparent boredom, glancing up occasionally at one or the other man.

Long moments later, Delita compressed his lips. "Not yet. We have to wait first."

Ramza scowled. "Why?"

Again the silence stretched, broken only by the sigh of the wind in leaves, in long grass. Eventually Delita shook his head. "I'm not ready yet."

Ramza blinked at him for a time, then twisted his lips in frustration. "Fine."

"_You _could help _me_, though, you know," offered Delita, eyes narrowing slyly. "You could join the Nanten with me. They'd make you an officer, and no one would dare to collect the bounty on you, not here. We could work together again."

Ramza hesitated only briefly before shaking his head. "That... would be nice, but I'm done answering to people. I can't do it."

Delita's smile returned, though Agrias suspected he was frustrated. "Of course. Of course. I don't blame you."

As the two men again locked gazes, Teta cleared her throat with a smile. "Ramza, it's good to see you." Stepping forward, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug. "It's been... over a year now, hasn't it?"

He returned the embrace stiffly, resting hands against her lower back. "Yeah, it's... yeah, something like that, I think."

Smiling more deeply, Teta held him a moment longer, then released him and stepped back. "Every now and then Delita and I talk about you, but it's just not the same." Abruptly she blinked and her smile shifted to a mask of sorrow. "I... never got to talk to you about Alma, though. I'm so sorry. I heard all about what happened and it's just... I'm sorry."

Ramza's face went cold, almost icy, and he didn't speak for a long time. Eventually, though, he offered an uncomfortable nod but said nothing. Perhaps he felt unable to speak.

Agrias averted her eyes from what was obviously his attempt not to show grief. _What happened there, anyway? He gets cold whenever anyone brings Alma up. She must have died._

When the silence grew awkward, Delita shifted. "Are you going to stay here for a while? I can make sure you get rooms in the castle if you want them."

Ramza was already shaking his head before the other man finished speaking. "I don't trust cities much anymore. I want to keep moving."

Delita spread his hands. "Fair enough. You know where to find me if you need to talk to me again."

Nodding briskly, Ramza turned and started heading back towards the courtyard entrance. Agrias paused, sharing an awkward smile with Ovelia, then hurried to catch up to him.

As she fell in beside him, she couldn't help but shake her head. "That was quick."

He made a sour face at the grass beneath his boots. "Yeah."

"You know...." She paused, chewing a lip, then sighed. "Delita was the one who attacked us when we split up at Lionel. He's the other Holy Knight who took Ovelia, and his guys killed Mustadio."

Ramza's face went blank and his step slowed to a shuffle. "Oh." Hazel eyes stared at something visible only to him, something inside, but after a moment he shrugged and resumed his normal pace.

Agrias accompanied him back into the castle's interior. _Just 'oh?' Great._

Neither of them said anything further on their way back to the front gate.

* * *

Hidden in another entranceway to the courtyard, Balmafula Lanando watched the heretic leave Delita's presence. Without a fight.

_Interesting._ As Ramza Beoulve and the Oaks woman disappeared into the shadows of the opposite wall, she kept a thoughtful frown from her face and slipped back into her own hallway. Delita had wanted to meet this man in the courtyard, ostensibly because it was prettier than a cold castle office, but most likely because that way she couldn't get close enough to overhear their conversation. Conversation with a heretic. _Very interesting._

Allowing herself a small sigh, she gave the bottom of her shirt a tug and set about strolling back to her room in the castle. One of her rooms. One he didn't know about. Delita was a wily one, hard to keep track of even when she was right there with him, and he definitely didn't need to know about the letter she was about to write concerning him.

* * *

Delita stared after Ramza, moving only his thumb as he gave the hilt of his sword an absent rub. He'd been expecting the man to bring the Holy Knight despite his probable wish to take Knox along instead, and had therefore half-expected to have to fight her again when she inevitably recognized him. _Of course. St. Konoe; she's disciplined. She wouldn't just lash out in vengeance on a whim. Although that pause there, when they were almost to the door... that was probably her telling him about me._

"Delita?" Teta's soft voice snuck through his reverie. "Are you okay?"

"Hmm?" Tearing his gaze from the now-empty doorway into the castle, he turned to face his sister. "Oh. Of course. Why?"

She smiled, making him smile back; she was like that. "Oh, you just seem a little tense. Like you were expecting to have to fight Ramza or something."

_She knows me pretty well, doesn't she?_ He forced a silly laugh, though, dismissing the thought with a wave of his hand. "Fight Ramza? Oh, come on. We grew up with him, didn't we?"

Dark eyes glittered as they studied his face, and her smile faded to nothing. He hadn't fooled her, of course. "I'd thought you were exaggerating when you told me how bad he is now. He must blame himself."

"Probably. He never really talked about it, and I didn't want to risk losing a tooth or two by bringing it up too often." As he spoke, he glanced past the two women, at the entranceway opposite the one Ramza had used, but Balmafula was already gone. A fine-looking woman, she was, but too cold for his tastes. Too jaded. Not to mention too untrustworthy, if she was still spying on him for Funeral. He had vague hopes that she would just sort of... stop doing that, but either way was of use to him.

Ovelia stirred, blinking prettily at Teta. "So he wasn't always like that?"

His sister shook her head. "He used to be kind of... the opposite of that."

Delita rolled his shoulders. "Shall we go? Unless you want to stand around in the courtyard and gossip."

Teta snickered, gathering her dress in two fists. "Let's go."

The two women chatted lightly on the way back through the castle, as they headed towards a study he almost never used. Goltana had given the thing to him, but even when he was in Zeltennia he was usually busy warring or politicking. Ramza had been lucky to catch him on one of the rare days he wasn't busy from before dawn till after dusk.

Once into his study, a modest space with a serviceable oaken desk, a few chairs and nothing else, Teta closed the door and leaned back on her hands against it. "Do you know what you're going to do yet?" she asked in a low voice, shadow-cloaked eyes intent on his face. "About Goltana?"

He sighed, hopping up to sit on the edge of his desk while Ovelia seated herself delicately in a ladder-backed armchair. Balmafula had explained that High Priest Funeral wanted to move to the next phase of his plan in the coming weeks. Goltana would soon kidnap the Queen and confine her to a cell in Bethla -- that much was his own plan, not the Church's -- and the Hokuten, of course, would retaliate by marching there to save her. When the armies clashed, Funeral wanted Larg and Dycedarg killed, along with Goltana... and probably himself, though he wasn't supposed to know that. "I do."

His sister's face clouded. In the thick shadows left by the line of flickering illumination sneaking under the door from the hallway, he couldn't read her eyes. "You're going to kill him, then. Kill Goltana. The man who's been giving you honors and promotions." It wasn't a question. Ovelia's golden-haired head shifted back and forth, following the conversation.

He nodded. "That's right."

Teta sighed and dragged herself to another chair, then sat and straightened her dress. "You could stop it, you know. If you revealed the plot to him, he'd be even more impressed with you and you'd probably get promoted again."

He made a face, then started ticking off points on his fingers, keeping his voice quiet enough not to carry out into the hallway. "Okay, first of all, he wouldn't believe me if I told him. You can't just walk up to a guy and say, 'Hey, by the way, the High Priest wants to have you assassinated.' Maybe Blansh or Bolmna could say that and make him believe it, but he doesn't know me well enough yet. And I'm not going to expose Balmafula just to prove myself in his eyes. Second, Funeral's been around a long time, and I'm sure he has a backup plan; if this one gets foiled, he's going to have another ready, and I won't know about it, and so it might actually threaten me. Threaten us. Third... it has to be done, Teta. Do you really think that Goltana ruling Ivalice would be substantially better than Ruvelia or Larg ruling it? The guy has no idea how stuff happens on the ground, how... how food gets from a farm to his table, or why people riot when taxes are raised. He has a terrible sense of perspective."

Silence reigned for a time, broken only by the faint sound of booted footsteps approaching and then receding in the hallway outside. Teta sat frowning, while Ovelia seemed to be holding her breath and waiting.

Eventually, though, his sister gave her head a slow shake. "I... suppose that does all make sense," she admitted softly, "but Delita... you can't get too caught up in this stuff. It's okay to think about _how _to do what you want to do, but you also have to think about _why_ you're doing it, and if there might not be a better way."

He swallowed a snappish retort and instead just nodded. She meant well, and she was right. "I know. But hey, that's what you're here for, right? To keep me honest?"

Shadow lines curved into a smile. "True."

"Delita?" Ovelia cleared her throat. "Can... can I do anything to help?"

He blinked, then shifted his gaze to her. "What? _You_ want to help?"

"Delita!" Teta's voice was as offended as it was amused.

He grimaced, waving a hand. "Sorry, Highness."

Ovelia smiled. "It's okay."

Delita smiled back, but he was already busy thinking, drumming his heels against the front of his desk. It hadn't even occurred to him that sheltered Ovelia might actually be able to do something to help in this game. "You know what? Maybe. Let me think about it."

She nodded. "I just... this is all being done for my sake, kind of, so I just want to...."

"I know. I understand." He pursed his lips briefly, then heaved himself to the floor. "But I have to head out for a moment. Elmdor should be arriving in town shortly and I need to talk to him. Will you girls be okay without me here?"

Teta snickered. "It's not like we're just going to sit here in your dark study. You run along and go play."

Laughing, he sketched a quick bow. "Of course. Ladies." As he straightened he gave them both a grin, then headed for the door, out of the shadows of privacy and into the harsh light of public view. Teta may have been joking, but she was also right; it _was_ a game. And the best way to win a game was to cheat.


	7. Of Puppets and Dreams

_Hatred is gained as much by good works as by evil._  
-- Niccolo Machiavelli, _The Prince_

Chapter Seven: Of Puppets and Dreams

"So... what now?"

Ramza blinked up at Agrias from where he lay sprawled on his bed in the inn room he shared with Knox and Vector. Everyone had stuffed themselves into the space, as it was the largest room they'd claimed, and seven people crowded into it made things a bit stuffy. He'd thrown open the shutters to allow in some cool evening air, as well as the vague stench of tannin from a leatherworker's shop down the street. "What do you mean?"

She threw him a sour glance, then crossed arms over her armored chest. She was the only one still plated up; even Alicia and Lavian had already dismantled down to the plain shirt and breeches both men and women wore under armor. "I mean, your plan to enlist your friend's help came up a little flat. What's the next plan?" Despite the crowding and her equipment, she looked totally at ease lounging against the wall, not even sweating. A curl of golden hair hung loosely down one cheek, near her eye, having come loose from her braid.

He shrugged and glanced idly out the window at the violet band of dusk around the western horizon. Everyone else was watching him again, six faces blank as they waited for the conversation to continue. Waited for him to come up with some asinine but ballsy idea. _If that's the case, they're in luck._ "I guess we go to Murond."

Clothes rustled faintly as everyone in the room exchanged glances. Agrias, frowning, tucked the loose strand of hair behind her ear. "That seems a little...."

"Stupid," finished Alicia bluntly. "Suicidal."

He scowled at the petite redhead sitting curled in a ball at the foot of his bed. "You have a better idea?"

"Yeah. How about one that lets us live?" Her eyes were hard on his own, glittering obsidian chips.

His jaw clenched. "So, you don't. Why complain if you have nothing to add?"

She shrugged, hugging her knees more tightly. "It's what I do. But your face is plastered on every wall in Ivalice. In Murond itself you won't last a day before someone captures or kills you."

_That's all she's worried about?_ "It's only me, though. None of you guys are on the wanted posters." How that had come about, he had no clue. Perhaps those who'd witnessed the Lionel incident had paid attention only to him. "If they take me, the rest of you can keep going without a problem. No big deal."

"I'm not sure I'd say that," allowed Jasmine quietly, frowning. "But though I do see the need to get answers out of people in Murond, it seems reckless. Maybe you don't have to go there with us?"

"I'm going. Don't try to stop me." He paused, thinking. "But I'm going to change how I look, probably. Cut my hair a bit, lose the sword and armor."

"You could grow a beard," offered Vector helpfully.

He grimaced. "Not really." Every other man in his family could grow facial hair, but not him.

Knox shifted where he sat on the floor, with his head under the window. "Ramza, what do you mean, lose the sword and armor?"

"Everyone thinks I'm a knight," he shrugged, "so I'll look like something else. I kind of want to develop more on the monk stuff we learned in Gariland anyway."

"Ah." The big fellow nodded. "So you mean light armor, rather than no armor."

"Yeah."

"Okay."

Agrias rubbed her forehead. "So what do you even want to do in Murond, anyway? Hack our way into the church and question Funeral? Then hack our way out?"

He pondered that for a moment. "More or less. Though if we can find someone other than Funeral who knows what's going on with the stones and the war, it might be easier to go for them instead."

Alicia snorted. "Don't count on it."

He poked her hip with a booted foot. "Funeral's pushing eighty years old. You really think he does everything himself? Like he commands the Shrine Knights and travels all over Ivalice to meet with regional leaders and also runs back and forth all the time to the pigeon coop to send and receive his messages? He has people under him doing that stuff. Some of them have to have a clue as to what's going on."

"Maybe," allowed the knight. "And maybe finding out who they are will be more trouble than getting Funeral himself."

Ramza shrugged. "Then in that case we'll just go after him. But anyway, we don't have to figure it all out right here. It's just that Murond is the only place in the world that's likely to hold any answers for us, so I want to go there. Do you disagree?"

Alicia frowned at him for a moment, then grunted. Agrias concealed a smile behind one fist.

"Tomorrow, right?" wondered Lavian dryly, glancing from face to face around the room. "You're not expecting to jump up and leave right now, are you?"

"No. Tomorrow is fine."

"Good." The woman pushed herself lithely to her feet, then grinned. "Then I'm going downstairs, where there's still music and people interested in dancing. Any and all of you are welcome to join me."

After a moment Vector shrugged and nodded, and then everyone was standing, stretching, and milling about as they filed out through the door, into the hallway. Someone murmured something and Jasmine snickered.

Agrias waited until everyone else was out of the room, then paused with one hand on the doorway and smiled back over her shoulder. "Not much of a dancer, I suppose, are you?"

Ramza grimaced. "No. You?"

"Not really." With a low chuckle the Holy Knight strolled out into the hall after everyone else, then pulled the door shut behind her, throwing the room back into a bluish dimness.

As footsteps and the sound of creaking floorboards faded from hearing, Ramza threw an arm over his eyes and sighed. He was tired, as always, but sleep would be a long time in coming.

* * *

"Put that thing away," muttered Wiegraf as he strode through ruin, shattered library shelves and the rotating crystals of the dead. "It's not something you should flash around."

"Fine," sighed Izlude, tucking Virgo into his coat somewhere. "What do they even do, anyway? My father never told me."

_That's a good question._ Wiegraf kept his face free of doubts, however, as he gave the younger man a quick glance. Izlude was tall, like his father, a handsome enough fellow in the rippling emerald robe of the Knight Blades. Young, though. Green. _Though it's good to know Vormav doesn't tell him any more than he tells me._

"Don't worry about it," he instructed finally, hopping to a stairway and taking the steps up two at a time. His cloak flared behind him with every step. "Just worry about keeping it safe. These things are priceless. Irreplaceable." As he spoke, his left hand rose to his own breast pocket, where he kept beautiful Aries, though he stopped the gesture before he could finish it. He'd been doing that more often of late, usually without noticing it, and he wasn't a man to tolerate nervous habits in himself.

"I know," grunted Izlude. "I hear that all the time. 'Don't screw up, Izlude. You have Pisces, Izlude. Don't lose it, Izlude.'"

Wiegraf shook his head as they rounded a bend in the stairs, but said nothing, only continued the ascent through the dusty monastery depths. The remains of his team followed after Izlude, some nursing injuries.

_This is dirty work, isn't it? Part of the deal, though, I suppose._ Glabados Church thought it was using him, and really it was, but he was using them just as much. And the job was... not without its perks. His hand tried to rise again at the thought, but he curled it into a gauntleted fist instead upon realizing it.

As he topped the stairs to the ground level and headed for the open monastery doorway, something caught his attention. Movement off to one side, shifting cloth among a scattering of crystals. The old priest, then. _He's not dead yet?_

With a shake of his head Wiegraf angled over in the old man's direction and drew his sword. Izlude followed dutifully after, a preoccupied scowl on his face, while the others hovered back, waiting. They knew what was going to happen.

His blade slid cleanly into the old priest's exposed back, then slid just as easily free. Another stab, for good measure, left a trickle of crimson dripping to the new corpse below. Pausing, he glanced around the main floor but could see nothing but stone hallways, his own people and the dead. "That's everyone, then?"

Izlude nodded. "Yeah. Why'd we have to kill everybody, though?"

Wiegraf shrugged, bending to clean his blade before scabbarding it. "Didn't Vormav tell you? They were heretics, trying to use the stone." _But something isn't right here. These people weren't warriors._ He paused, frowning.

"Wiegraf?"

His fingers brushed cloth before he realized what he was doing, a thin layer of dyed wool over something hard and precious. _It wasn't right, but... it was necessary, wasn't it? If anyone but the Shrine Knights could unlock the stones' secret, whatever it is, there'd be nothing but trouble. It's sad but it had to be done._

"Wiegraf? You coming?"

He blinked, turning to eye Izlude sideways for a moment. Then he gave himself a brisk shake, jerking his hand away from where he'd tucked Aries safely away. "We're done here. Let's go."

* * *

"You know what you should do?" suggested Lavian, thumbing her chin. "Get an eyepatch. No one's looking for a one-eyed heretic."

Ramza rolled his eyes. They were two hours east of Bervenia and heading toward it in the midst of rocky brush-covered hills. Low morning sunlight angled out of the sky behind them, tracing lazy shifting lines in a faint mist, glittering on a thousand beads of dew on green leaves all around. The road to Zeltennia wound between the hills rather than over their tops, and while the rest in the party busied themselves with idle chatter, he kept his attention peeled for possible attackers in the higher ground.

"But eyepatches are interesting," countered Vector earnestly. "They attract notice, and that's not what Ramza wants."

"Well," mused a thoughtful Knox, "what about an earring or two? They'll draw attention away from his face and towards his ears."

"A hat or headband might help too," added Lavian, nodding. "Or... Ramza, I know you said you can't grow a beard, but you could at least give it a try."

He made a face, watching sharply as breeze stirred leaves above and ahead. "I'm not disguising myself as a pirate."

A moment of silence greeted this. "Oh," murmured Vector. "A pirate. That might actually work."

Ramza avoided the urge to rub his forehead. "In the middle of land? Nowhere near a port?"

Alicia grunted. "There aren't many heretic pirates, are there? People will think of you as an outlaw and ignore the possibility that you might also be a wanted heretic."

"This is stupid," he stated. "I'm not doing it."

Jasmine snickered, elbowing his ribs. "Come on. Relax a little. Yarr!"

Agrias groaned loudly from the front of the group. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Well, why shouldn't I? Ramza's being a killjoy."

"You want the rest of us to play dress-up as well?" wondered Lavian dryly, cutting her eyes towards the priestess. "Just to help his disguise?"

Jasmine favored the knight with a cool stare. "You were the one to suggest half of that stuff."

Lavian's lips peeled back. "Yeah, but I--"

Ramza cut her off with a sharp gesture. "Doesn't matter. Not doing it."

A moody silence settled over the party as they wound gradually between hills among a swirling feathery mist, not thick enough to be called a fog. Eventually, though, Vector ran a hand through his hair. "Well, maybe a funny hat would still be in order. Something to make people not take you seriously."

"Oooh," nodded Lavian in excitement. "I bet we could find one with bells on it. Maybe in--"

"I'm not dressing up like a jester either," sighed Ramza. "Think of something else, if you insist."

Alicia adjusted one of her gauntlets, lips pursed in thought. "You know, we could--"

"So." Agrias' cool silvery voice cut through the younger woman's. "Ramza. Do you have a plan yet? For when we get to Murond, I mean."

He frowned at a nearby ridge, thinking. "We need to be tricky," he decided, "not forceful. The church is probably too well defended for us just to break in and out." Somewhere above, a hunting bird's lonely cry echoed across the hills.

Agrias nodded without turning around. "Tricky is good. How, though?"

"I was thinking disguise." _Not as a pirate though. Honestly. _"Also, I think only a few people should go in, maybe three. The more people we bring, the more likely we are to be discovered, and it only takes one person to question somebody."

"Hmm." Silence fell as the Holy Knight pondered this. "What kind of disguise? And which three people?"

He shrugged. "Not you; you're not very stealthy. Myself and Vector and... I don't know. Why? Why do we have to have this figured out now? Let's just get to Murond and decide after we see what we're up against."

Agrias chuckled, ducking her head, causing her golden braid to sway. "Okay, fair enough. I was just afraid we'd fall back on the usual go-in-through-the-front-gate-fighting-and-screaming strategy."

Ramza compressed his lips and pushed hair out of his face. "I'm not a moron."

Alicia snorted. "Says who?"

He shook his head, unwilling to bicker so early in the morning. _Why is everyone so worried about Murond? We have a whole continent full of bounty hunters to get through before we have the luxury of worrying about our strategy there._

Once Alicia realized he wasn't going to answer, she grunted again, then rolled slim shoulders in an angry shrug. "You're no prize, Iceman. I don't know why we put up with you."

He shrugged as well. Nobody else spoke.

* * *

Rat sat where he often did when not picking pockets, on the roof of a run-down inn near the city's west gate. Spencer sat with him, both of them perched on the apex of the green-tiled roofline to watch the milling street traffic below. Sunlight glittered brilliantly above, forcing him to tug his cap lower over his eyes.

"So," sighed Spencer, digging through their bag for a handful of pine nuts, "my sister's going to try to get into the Hokuten."

"Which sister? Karen?" Rat paused to crack open another nut, then spat the shell down to the street and tossed the seed into his mouth. "I thought you had to be fifteen to do that."

Spencer shrugged. "She looks older than she is."

"And they'd never let her in anyway," continued Rat, stretching. "You have to be well-born, right? You can't be someone whose father died in a barfight and whose mother walked the--"

"You shut up about my mom!" Spencer waved a threatening fist at him, dark eyes narrowed. "At least I have a mom!"

Rat glared at his friend, then grunted and stared back over the street. "Anyway, Karen's clumsy. The knights wouldn't take her."

"I know." Spencer tossed another shell away, letting it tumble down the roof to the street below. "I think she's hoping to be a chemist or something. I don't know."

Grunting again, Rat cracked another nut, but then paused. "Speaking of knights," he muttered, nodding towards the street, "check that one out."

Spencer squinted down at a handful of fighters approaching, then nodded, impressed. "What do you think? Touten?"

"Touten?" Rat laughed. "No, their shields are silver and red. Or maybe green? No, I think she's St. Konoe."

His friend snorted. "Right. Like an imperial would be wandering around on foot with mercenaries."

"Yeah, but she just looks like it. Too confident or something, and they wear their swords just like that. Whatever." Rat shrugged irritably and resumed opening his pine nut.

"Wow, that guy in the back is huge," continued Spencer in tones of awe. "When I'm that big I'm going to kick your ass."

"Yeah, I'm sure." Rat grinned at the street, then blinked, feeling his smile fade. "That guy next to the knight, though... who's he? I've seen his face."

Spencer shrugged. "Dunno. Looks like a noble, though. Why?"

Rat frowned, darting his gaze from the nameless monk to a bounty poster nailed to a wall across the street, then back again. "Oh, shit," he whispered. "It's _him._ It's that guy."

"What are you going on about now?" sighed Spencer, poking through the nuts in his hand for a suitable one to eat. "I doubt he's the King, or whoever it was you thought you saw yesterday."

Rat twitched. "No, he... oh, shut up. No, it's that guy from the wanted posters. Look!"

Muttering, Spencer glanced up, then froze. "Oh my God. You're right. For once."

Too startled to respond to the insult, Rat simply sat and watched as the heretic and his companions strolled unmolested through the city's western gate, out onto the road. "Why are they... wait, why isn't anyone doing anything?"

Spencer shook his head slowly and didn't answer, still staring after the heretic with the bounty on his head.

"I mean, the guards were right there! They didn't even look at him!" Rat stared on for another moment before remembering to close his mouth.

Eventually Spencer shifted. "Maybe... well, that knight was really pretty, and the big guy... maybe everyone looks at them and ignores the heretic guy?"

Rat swallowed, then blinked at the nuts in his hand for a moment before stuffing them back into the satchel. "Alright, let's go."

Spencer's dark eyes widened. "What? Where?"

"There's a reward out on that guy and I want it. Or some of it." Buttoning the leather sack shut, he slung it over his shoulder and slid down the back slope of the inn's roof. His boots and breeches clattered over poorly-maintained tiles, breaking one loose, and shortly he was dropping to the pile of wooden crates they'd used to climb up. After landing he scampered quickly to the muddy alley, giving Spencer room to land as well. Fat Tina's shrieking voice drifted out of the inn after them but he ignored it as he always did, instead breaking into a run into the city, away from the gate.

"Wait!" called Spencer from a few steps behind him. "Where are you going? There's no way I'm fighting that guy with you!"

Rat rolled his eyes and didn't bother to point out they were running in the wrong direction to catch up to the heretic. Mud puddles and assorted rubbish splashed about under his boots as he ran, and the walls of inns, taverns and brothels flew past in a blur of chipped paint and rotting wood. He kept to shortcuts through the city, routes he and Spencer knew well.

In moments he reached his destination, the crowded and noisy Palatinate Square. In an alley mouth between a blacksmith's shop and an outfitter, he paused to catch his breath as he scanned the crowd. The man he was looking for frequented this place around midday, and would stick out like a sore... _there._ Tall, red face, round belly stretching his white priest robe, hood thrown back to reveal a pudgy bearded face. Father Hugo liked to give to beggars around here but had little patience for urchins such as themselves.

With a sigh Rat strode out into the square, making sure to stuff his hands in his pockets to let his associates here know he wasn't trying to ply his trade on their ground. Taller men and women jostled him frequently, some offering muttered apologies, most hurrying on without a second glance.

Spencer tagged along after him, dragging his feet. "God, you're bringing us to _him?_ What did we do to deserve that?"

"Shut up." Pausing to let a chocobo-drawn carriage clatter past, Rat elbowed through a group of chattering older girls and planted himself boldly in front of the priest.

"You!" Hugo's bushy eyebrows rose in surprise, then drew together in irritation. "What are you brats doing here?" As he spoke he clutched a steaming spice-roll close to his chest, then patted his coinpurse guardedly with his other hand, probably making sure it was still there.

Rat pointed urgently through the city, towards where he'd been moments before. "Father, we saw that guy, the heretic guy on all the posters."

Father Hugo -- or Father Huge, as they called him -- laughed at this, clapping his belly with his free hand. Some nearby children shrank away at his booming laugh. "Oh, you don't say? I suppose you captured him and are waiting for your fifty thousand gil?"

Rat scowled up at the fat man. "I'm serious, Father. He was with a bunch of knights, and one was huge and another looked like St. Konoe, and they walked right out the west gate just now." Spencer stared at the ground and nodded along as he spoke. The pedestrians flowing past them in every direction paid their conversation no mind.

Slowly the mirth faded from the priest's face, to be replaced by thoughtful surprise. "You saw him _here?_ In Bervenia?"

Rat nodded and said nothing.

Huge thumbed one of his chins. "And you say he left through the west gate?"

"That's right, Father."

"Huh." The priest stared at nothing for a moment, then shook himself. "Well, tell you what. That's useful, and though there's no reward for mere information, maybe this'll keep you from picking pockets for a time." His freehand unclipped the purse from his rope belt and he tossed it forward.

Rat caught it by instinct, then froze, measuring the thing by weight. _Forty... no, fifty gil? That's enough to live for days!_

Spencer shifted forward. "Hey, how much is in there? I want some."

With a laugh Rat spun and bolted into the crowd, laughing even harder when angry citizens yelled after him. Spencer's persistent shouts followed him back through the city.

* * *

A skinny priest closed the door to the study, then offered a deep bow. "Your Excellency. There's news from Zeltennia." His soft voice, suited to a librarian, was softened further by the ornate gold-and-crimson rug spread over the hard lines of the floor.

Vormav lounged in an elaborately-carved birch armchair. Lounged and watched and remained silent.

Standing in the middle of the room, High Priest Funeral clasped hands behind his back and donned an irritated scowl as he faced the newcomer. "What news? Out with it!" His voice, though loaded with the impatience of command, quavered with age's unmistakable touch.

The new priest -- Vincent, his name was -- bowed again. "Balmafula sends word that Delita Hyral spoke with the heretic Ramza Beoulve in Zeltennia Castle."

"What?" Funeral shuffled a few steps closer to the younger man and shook a wrinkled fist. "He knows I want him captured or killed! These military men are too independent! They think they can just...."

Vormav tuned the old man out and pondered this development. Delita had grown up with the Beoulve kid. He'd never spoken of him before except to admit that fact when asked, but perhaps there was something there, some lingering disposition towards cooperation. Unlike Funeral, he himself was hardly surprised that Delita hadn't turned his old friend in; there were plenty of uses for a man whose actions you could disavow, and Delita would understand that. _It seems the situation is more complex than I thought. One of those two is not what he seems. Is Delita the one who's hiding something, or is Ramza more than a simple heretic? Or both?_

"...my day they never would have done anything like this. Crossing the Church? Unthinkable! That he thinks he can get away with such...."

_Delita didn't summon Ramza, though, not if they didn't meet in secret._ Vormav pursed his lips. _So Ramza sought him out. What does he want? The last thing he did was assault Rudvich in Goug, and then he disappeared for weeks. What's he after? Why did he think Delita could help him?_

"...is the boy who killed Draclau and took the stone, wasn't he?" Funeral shook his fist again, at nothing in particular. "He has Scorpio and probably still Taurus. He has to be stopped or he's going to foul everything up. Why does Delita not understand...."

_That's right. He's probably still after the stones._ Vormav nodded to himself as the facts fit into place. On the surface, Ramza Beoulve appeared to have come across his two stones by happenstance, one by saving the thief who'd stolen it, and one by fending off an attack from the man wielding it. His presence in Lionel made sense as well; escorting Ovelia there to flee the growing dispute between Larg and Goltana was a textbook move, and naturally he'd have asked Draclau for help. Then Draclau, seeing a stone in front of him, had been impatient enough simply to attack to get it, and now he was dead. _That all wraps up with a neat sort of sense. But now the kid must still be after them. Rudvich, and now Delita._ It seemed he was going after anyone he thought might know anything about the stones, short of assaulting Murond itself. Which meant that either Delita had given him what he'd wanted, or he was now heading for Murond. _Interesting._

"...need to have him taught a lesson!" Funeral was wide-eyed with indignation now, lost to one of his signature rants. "He's too useful to kill, but this Delita fellow simply cannot be--"

"Your Excellency." Vormav kept his voice low as he interrupted his nominal superior.

Funeral paused, blinking, then rounded on him. "Oh, you're still here? What?"

"It would be wiser to leave him be for now." He kept his eyes fixed on the old man's, though Vincent's stare was a tangible peripheral weight as he spoke. "We've given Delita some latitude, so it would be best to let him be for now. One meeting doesn't make him a traitor."

"A meeting with a _heretic,_ Vormav," clarified the High Priest coldly, pale eyes narrowing. "That's different."

Vormav spread his hands. "Or you can lash out at him now and lose a valuable servant. Keep in mind Delita has no orders to apprehend Ramza Beoulve, so if he doesn't care about the bounty, he has no reason to act. You've issued no direct order as such."

Funeral's face darkened further at this, but before long he grunted. The interruption had probably thrown his rant too far out of balance for him to recover it. "Fine. You can go, Vincent."

The priest at the door bowed once more. "Your Excellency." His boots made no sound on the floor as he left.

A brief silence ensued in the aftermath of the messenger's departure, and Vormav elected not to break it. Instead he remained motionless in his chair, listening to the faintest whisper of the rug fluffing back into place where Vincent had stood on it, feeling the tiniest stir of air on his skin from the motion of the door. Feeling the weight of the sword on his hip. Cutting his eyes towards Funeral, he waited.

Eventually the old man grunted again, scowling at nothing. "Where was I?"

By way of answer Vormav pushed himself up from the chair and stood. "I'm leaving." Perhaps the Beoulve kid was heading to Murond, and perhaps not, but a few clues planted in the right place could make sure of it.

Clasping hands behind his back once more, Funeral nodded and crossed to stare down at his massive oaken desk. "Fine. We'll talk later."

Nodding in return, Vormav strode out into the hallway, where Kletian was still waiting by the door. Without a word he set off down the lamplit hallway, keeping his gaze straight ahead, and the other man followed.

Once they were out of an earshot of Funeral's study, Kletian spoke in a quiet voice. "What do you want me to do?"

"Send Wiegraf to me."

* * *

"We just want the heretic!" shouted a bear-like brawler in mismatched armor. He and a half-dozen companions, mostly renegade knights and monks by their looks, stood in the drifting golden sands of Zeklaus Desert, cloaks ripping in the breeze. "Leave him to us and the rest of you will have no trouble!"

"Great," sighed Agrias, drawing her blade. "More bounty hunters?" The sun above threatened to glare into her eyes, but her helmet hung just low enough to block it.

"It's okay," assured Alicia in a low voice, staring seriously at the men ahead. "This keeps us from getting soft."

"Then we're going to be the hardest people in Ivalice." Lavian shook her head as she fitted an arrow to the bow she'd purchased in Lesalia. "Which has its advantages."

Agrias nodded. "Indeed." Resting her naked blade on her shoulder, she advanced a few steps from her friends, towards the others waiting fifteen paces ahead. Ramza accompanied her silently, head tilted into the blowing sand, eyes half-closed, fists tightening. "Go away!" she called to the bounty hunters. "We're just trying to travel."

"And we're just trying to get the reward," laughed the leader, arms crossed over his chest. "Let's go, boys!" As one they raced forward, shouting, weapons brandished.

Exchanging a wry glance with Ramza, Agrias waited until the men were close enough, then swung her sword down. Lightning struck from the clear sky, dropping one archer instantly and injuring another knight. Ramza fixed that shortly, breaking the wounded man's neck from behind before he even knew what was happening.

Amid a rain of occasional arrows from Lavian the others advanced, all save Jasmine. Blades clashed and shouts turned to screams. The blood heat of battle quickly grew to match the wavy glare of the sun, bringing sweat to Agrias' brow and a sting to her eyes.

From nowhere something sharp bit into her shoulder, in a gap between the protective plates there. Gritting her teeth, she skidded back a step and twisted her shield into another blow from one of the enemy knights. A muscular grinning man, he held his blade in both hands, forgoing defense in favor power.

_That suits me fine._ As the fellow danced forward again, Agrias slid aside, out of the line of the attack. As the knight stumbled, off-balance after having expected to hit her, she blasted a Holy Explosion through him, swirling angry dust-devils out of the desert sand in the wake of the attack's passage.

The knight screamed, then froze, eyes widening as he stared at something only he could see. Then he screamed again, batting awkwardly at his own clothes. "Get... get 'em off me! Oh, God!"

Shaking her head, Agrias left the man to battle his imaginary spiders or whatever it was, and instead ran to hack at a monk who'd brought Vector to his knees already. Her blade sunk into the man's back but didn't drop him, and his instinctive counterattack left a few of her ribs broken even through the armor. Growling, feeling her breath bubbling, she summoned another Lightning Stab to leave the monk little more than smoking clothes.

_I... don't have much time,_ she realized, glancing quickly about. To her relief, only two enemies remained standing, the man she'd dazed and another monk. As she watched, an arrow from Lavian appeared in one of the knight's eyes, shattering his madness and his life alike. Planting her blade in the ground for support, Agrias darted her gaze to Ramza just in time to see the monk level a Wave Fist at him.

Somehow her friend dodged the attack, twisting fluidly forward and around it. Then there followed a moment of nothing but _air,_ somehow, fluttering cloaks and circular motion as the two men danced about for advantage. All too soon, however, one of Ramza's open hands connected with the other monk's ribs. Flesh rippled and bones cracked, sending the man skidding wildly backwards, but Ramza followed without mercy, even leaping into the air. With a sick crunch, both his boots connected with the bounty hunter's face.

Both men dropped inelegantly to the sandy ground. Only Ramza got up.

And then he fell again, groaning, clutching a bloody wound in his stomach that hadn't seemed to trouble him until now. Golden dust blew all about still, sticking to his bloodstains, making him squint and cough.

As Jasmine rushed forward to tend to him, Agrias shook her head and invoked a spell for her own benefit. And then she did it again, grimacing. Though some soreness remained in her torso, at least she was no longer in danger of choking on her own blood. _These guys were a little better than most._

Once all the injured were healed and the dead looted, Knox adjusted the thin veil he'd been using to keep the dust from his mouth. "Word must be getting around."

Jasmine nodded, somewhat absently as her attention still lay mostly on the swaying Ramza beside her. "Yeah. Don't mess with us unless you're good."

Ramza shrugged without concern. Eyes the color of polished bronze swung southward, towards Dorter. "We lived. Let's keep going."

Nobody argued. It was another six hours before drifting sands gave way to vegetation, and two more after that before they finally stopped for the day.

Despite the tough fight earlier, the party's mood was relaxed as they made camp atop a low, sparsely-wooded hill. After a meal of dried fruit and salted meat, Vector put together a fire while Alicia and Knox dragged over a fallen log to serve as a bench of sorts. Agrias seated herself on its end next to Lavian, uncorked her waterskin, and watched as Vector tried unsuccessfully to entice everyone else into a game of dice.

"You know," mused Lavian as the fire crackled away under a star-dusted sky. "This isn't bad. All the fighting, I mean. Keeps us fresh, keeps things interesting."

On her other side, Knox nodded. Warm firelight danced on his broad, expressionless features. "You can't take anything for granted."

Lavian grinned, tapping his knee with her own. "You saying it makes you want to live in the moment, Brix?"

"Not really."

"Aw, come on. I know there's an impulsive fellow in there somewhere."

Knox pursed his lips momentarily. "No, I don't think there is."

Agrias smiled but said nothing, instead glancing over at where Alicia was arguing with Ramza on the other side of the fire. She hadn't kept track of their conversation, but the redhead was now arguing with him about his fighting style, complete with the occasional shoulder punch. She'd jumped into the monk lifestyle along with him, ostensibly to keep him from slacking in his training, but more likely because she'd thought it would be fun. Past them, a short distance from the fire, Vector was showing Jasmine something about fighting with knives.

"Agrias, what are you smiling about?"

She blinked, then brushed hair from her face and spared the waiting Lavian a sideways glance. "Nothing, really. It's just nice not having anything to worry about."

"Except failing and dying." The other woman grinned, clear blue eyes cheerful.

"Well, yeah." Agrias shrugged. "But that's a concern no matter what you're doing."

"I suppose." Lavian gave her head a toss, fluffing dark hair, then eyed Knox. "How about you, then?"

He frowned back at her. "What about me?"

"What do you worry about?"

Knox took a moment to ponder this. "My family. My father's health is never good, and I have a two younger sisters who really look up to me, so when I'm gone for long periods of time like this, I worry about them."

"Ah." Lavian's smile faltered; she'd probably hoped for a light-hearted response so she could keep the teasing up. "I see." Her voice was quiet now, more serious.

Knox nodded, staring into the fire. "And you?"

"Me?" Lavian exhaled slowly, a wistful but put-upon sigh, and planted her chin in one open hand. "I just worry that no man is going to sweep me off my feet before I die."

Agrias groaned, dropping her face to her hands. "My God, Lavian. I'm right here."

The other woman snorted. "Hate to tell you this, Agrias, but... you're a woman."

"Oh, for... no." Agrias rolled her eyes. "I meant you should flirt somewhere where I don't have to hear you."

"Oh."

"It doesn't matter anyway," dismissed Knox, pushing himself to his feet. "I'm going to bed."

"So soon?" Lavian smiled up at him, craning her neck to do so. "How boring."

Knox nodded, seemingly unoffended. "Sleep well." Dirt and pine needles whispered under his boots as he headed towards his sleeproll.

Agrias frowned after him for a time, then sighed and set about unbuckling the straps holding her breastplate in place. "I'm going to retire as well."

Lavian's face wrinkled up in distaste as she gazed across the fire. "Don't make me sit around and try to talk to Alicia and _Ramza_."

Agrias smiled. "Good night, Lavian."

The next day dawned to another clear sky, but with a stiff breeze. Kneeling in her blankets, she closed her eyes and inhaled, letting her senses sparkle. The wind was constant and cool, a little damp. _It'll rain later._

With a nod she stood and resumed getting ready for the day. First armor, then packing, then something to eat. And then, with little delay, they were on the road.

When they approached Dorter around midday, a blanket of steel-grey clouds had moved into the northwestern sky. Though she was tempted to make Ramza stop just long enough for everyone to have a warm meal for once, the urge to get as much travel in as possible before the rain swept in proved stronger, so with a twist to her mouth she resigned herself to strolling through the city from one end to the other. _And really, this is fine. I'm getting soft if I think I need a--_

"Hey, lady."

Frowning, she stopped and turned around, aware of the rest of the party doing likewise. Among the swirling pedestrian crowd behind her stood a boy of perhaps eight years, clad in the torn and faded garments of street children everywhere. Though he stood shorter than her shoulder, he stared boldly up at her, brown eyes direct and confident as though eager to show he was older than his actual age. "What?"

Without expression the boy tugged a piece of folded paper from one sleeve, then held it out. "Some guy said to give you this."

"Oh?" Quirking an eyebrow, she gave the child a doubtful glance as she unfolded the note. "Who?"

He shrugged. "Dunno."

"Of course." Suppressing a sigh, she scanned the contents of the message only to find that it was quite short. And not even addressed to her at all.

_Ramza Beoulve_  
_Murond is a deep river. People can just disappear in the current._

Her eyes widened of their own accord as she glanced up. "Hey, kid, where did...." She trailed off with a muttered curse, however, as the boy was nowhere to be found now. Only the usual foot traffic remained, flowing on either side of their party with no more notice than the occasional look of mild annoyance for being in the way.

Ramza shuffled up beside her. "What?"

"Looks like someone wants you to stay away." Shaking her head, she passed the note over to him.

He read it briefly and without reaction, while Jasmine stood on tiptoe to read over his shoulder. Then he shrugged and dropped the thing to the muddy street. "All that means is we're on the right track." Brushing sand-colored hair from his eyes, he swiveled his head to stare westward, in the direction of the city's gate. "Let's keep moving."

No one argued. No one dallied either. In a quarter-hour they were out of the city, heading westward along the curving coastline road.

When night rolled around, this time things weren't quite so relaxed. Though nobody seemed tense, the mood was more... pensive, Agrias supposed, would be the word for it. She engaged in little conversation, just one brief exchange with Ramza.

"You have to be very careful," she told him quietly, without looking at him, as the fire crackled away before the two of them. "They know you're coming."

"I know." He didn't move, only sat beside her and stared at the dancing flames with his chin in his hands. "I don't want to endanger any of you."

_How typical. He worries about us but couldn't care less about himself._ Compressing her lips, she tightened gauntleted fingers around the helmet in her hands and elected not to speak further.

The rain began during the night, a steady and solid downpour that woke her up and kept subsequent sleep shallow. Occasional rolling thunder echoed her own grumbling.

Travel the next day proved brisk and determined. And eventful: they were attacked twice within the shadowed depths of Sweegy Woods, once by goblins and once by highwaymen who only recognized Ramza after they'd already attacked. In both battles Ramza took enough wounds to be unable to stand on his own power afterwards, and in neither battle did anyone else take anywhere near as many injuries as him. The rain kept on, turning dirt to mud and warmth to chill.

A half-mile outside the gates of Gariland, Ramza paused to root through their equipment, then finally came up with a bluish silk mask. When wrapped around his face it left only his eyes visible, dead eyes the color of honey which stared at everyone else with a wordless imperative. Taking the hint, Lavian donned something similar, while Jasmine swapped her white robe for a black one. After a moment of hesitation Agrias slipped the priestess' robe over her own armor, while Knox found a tattered red cape they'd looted from a Lionel man weeks ago and swung it over his shoulders. Vector grinned and did nothing, which was probably good enough; the eye naturally slipped past him anyway.

_I don't know that we're going to fool anyone important,_ she decided with a sigh as they closed the last distance to Gariland under a darkening twilight sky, _but hopefully the average bounty hunter won't recognize us._ Rain continued to hiss into long grasses and weeds, continued to soak through her clothes and trickle down her back.

"I want to sail out of here tonight," announced Ramza in a quiet voice. One bare hand kept his own cloak closed over his chest, and he didn't look away from the looming city walls. "If we can find a ship headed for Murond, anyway. The less time we spend in Gariland, the better off we are."

Vector bobbed his head and sucked air through his teeth. "Yeah. We, um... I can maybe find a... you know, a ship for us. While you wait. At that one inn, maybe."

Ramza nodded. "Fine."

"I'll go too," offered Lavian, her low, almost sultry voice sounding out-of-place in the rain, in such a serious situation. "More people searching means less time waiting."

Ramza nodded again. "Agreed."

Nobody spoke further as they approached and strode through the city's open gates. Like Dorter, Gariland got too much trade to close their gates, even at night, unless there was a rampaging army somewhere in the vicinity. One of the guards, a white-cloaked man atop the wall, waved once and Agrias lifted a hand in response.

Once among narrow streets and smallish buildings, Vector hurried on ahead, with Lavian only a pace behind. Agrias kept her head down but her eyes watchful as she advanced with everyone else. The constant drill of rain into muddy puddles kept her company in the absence of further conversation.

Less than a block from the Split Sail, the inn of which Vector had spoken, however, a man stepped out from a corner not ten paces in front of her. Tall, with the hood of a long grey cloak pulled over his head against the rain, the man held both hands out in a silent command to stop, and also likely to suggest he was unarmed.

Agrias gripped the hilt of her blade anyway and advanced within striking distance of the stranger. Alicia ghosted up by her side, scowling, while Ramza simply gave the other man a blank stare. Thunder rumbled across the sky above, fitful and muttering.

"I have an invitation for you," began the stranger in a clear tenor, speaking loudly to be heard over the rain, before Agrias could demand his name and purpose. "There's someone who wants to meet you tonight. Even I don't know who it is, so I can't tell you that, but this person will generously allow you to choose the time and place of the meeting so you can be assured it's not a trap."

Agrias snorted. "Who the hell are you? And why should we bother?"

"Me?" The voice coming from within the hood seemed suddenly amused. "I'm nothing but a merchant. Of information. I'm being paid to deliver the invitation whether you accept it or not, so personally I couldn't care less what you decide to do. Though I am told to inform you this is in regards to Murond. I am to understand this means something to you."

"Murond, huh?" muttered Alicia, brushing rainwater from her face as she gave the man a narrow-eyed scowl. "What did this guy look like?"

"I said nothing about a guy."

The redhead's eyes narrowed further. "Who do you think you're--"

Agrias laid a hand on the other woman's arm. "Enough." Turning her back on the messenger, she eyed Ramza. "Since the Church seems to know you're coming," she continued, speaking quietly, "it's probably them."

He shrugged but nodded. "Let's meet this mystery guest and kill him."

Jasmine made a face at this, sucking air between her teeth. "Ramza, whoever it is might know something useful. It would never hurt to know more about the place you're planning to storm."

"Alright, fine." He stepped through shadowed puddles to the other man. "In the alley behind the Split Sail, an hour from now."

The stranger inclined his head. Then, without a word, he clasped the cloak more tightly around himself and hurried off down the street, leaving a line of splashing footfalls.

Ramza stared after the departing man for a moment, then turned and continued on towards the inn. Agrias fell in beside him, only now releasing her sword's hilt. It took some time to clear the scowl from her face. _Not ten minutes into Gariland and they already know we're here. Not good._

The inn was crowded when they arrived. Crowded, hot, noisy and smelling of mud and sweat. Agrias elbowed through the crowd to an empty table near a back corner, and the others did the same, dropping into chairs with an assortment of clinks and tired sighs. Tugging her gauntlets off, she let them drop with a clatter to the wooden tabletop, while beside her Jasmine knuckled her back and muttered. Knox, Ramza and Alicia simply stared or frowned at nothing, probably all worrying.

A serving girl was quick to find them, and quick to bring stew and cider once asked. Agrias ate sparingly; better to go hungry than risk fighting on a full belly. All around, drunks roared and danced and fought and left them alone.

It was still raining when they secreted themselves about the alley behind the inn, in mud puddles, behind crates, atop low rooftops of rotting wooden shingles. Agrias hid herself in the shadow of a boarded-up doorway, one hand on her sword's hilt. Ramza was the only one clearly visible, standing cross-armed in the middle of the alley, scowling. In a thick darkness lit only by a trickle of errant lamplight from two corners away and the occasional rogue flash of lightning, they waited.

Just as the hour drew to a close, a half-dozen shadowed figures rounded a corner twenty paces away, then headed in their direction. The one at their head stood a little taller than the rest and strode with a familiar confidence. Agrias found herself frowning, wondering where she'd seen that body language before.

When the figure drew to a halt an arm's length from Ramza, another flicker of amber from the warring heavens etched harsh angles across his face. Agrias nodded to herself.

"Wiegraf," greeted Ramza flatly, without expression. "What do you want?"

The other man waited while his subordinates fanned out in a tight arc blocking the alley exit, then smiled. "Ramza Beoulve. Good to see you again."

Ramza's eyes flickered to the array of white-cloaked knights and time mages, then slid back to Wiegraf's face. "You're working for the Church now? You fancied yourself a people's hero, not a puppet dancing on the master's strings."

Wiegraf ducked his head, and his chuckle carried a grating tension. "Very clever. But I've discovered that dreams are worthless without the power to implement them. You wouldn't know anything about that, though, would you? You have neither dreams nor power."

Ramza's face tightened under wet slicks of hair pushed around by the rain. "Did you want something, or are you just here to play catch-up?"

Drawing himself up to his full height, Wiegraf leveled a hard stare at Ramza. "You have Taurus and Scorpio. What are you hoping to do in Murond? Get all the others? Kill the High Priest, maybe? Maybe just a cardinal wasn't enough for you."

"Maybe," allowed Ramza. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the invisible distance. "I'll kill him if he has a stone. Does he?"

Wiegraf spread his gauntleted hands. "Who's to say? Maybe you'll find out on your way to hell."

In the doorway Agrias drew an inch of steel from her scabbard, but paused when nobody moved. Rain continued to patter into mud, onto wood and metal.

Eventually Ramza shrugged. "Maybe. Is that why you came here? To send me there?"

Wiegraf laughed as he drew his blade. "To be honest, I came to ask of your intentions. But I think it'll be much more impressive when I come back with your head and the stones, don't you think? Lots of money in the heretic market these da--" He trailed off as a leaping kick from Ramza snapped his head back. Somebody shouted, and they alley erupted into motion and chaos.

Agrias joined it, slashing a Lightning Stab into the still-reeling Wiegraf and one of his knight cronies. Blinking away the violet afterimages, she slipped out of the doorway and leapt over a pile of crates to hack at one of the spellcasters, hoping to interrupt the woman's chanting, and was rewarded with a spray of blood and a choked scream. The mage remained on her feet, though.

Abruptly more lightning jagged into the alley, striking bladelike into Ramza and Knox, dropping the former to his knees; Wiegraf had recovered, it seemed. A screaming Wave Fist from Alicia blurred through both men and dropped a Church knight into a boneless pile, while one of the fallen woman's comrades sunk her blade into Ramza's ribs. He groaned, then collapsed.

Gritting her teeth, Agrias danced away from her wounded mage and tackled aside the woman who'd hacked Ramza. One boot slipped in the slick mud, and then they were falling, splatting into the puddled ground. Metal clinked underneath her, and the knight grunted; Agrias wedged her shield between the two of them and pushed, pinning the other woman in place while she rained gauntleted punches into an exposed pretty face. Flesh split and blood flew, and grunts turned into shouts as the knight tried to wriggle free of her confinement. Somehow one of her arms got free, and an open hand pushed Agrias' face away.

_Damn it. She's too strong._ Snarling, Agrias shifted her weight on the shield. Drove it up, angling its edge into the other woman's neck and leaning on it. Something shifted and crackled, like wet reeds snapping. The knight's arm dropped limply to the mud.

Breathing hoarsely, Agrias scrambled to her feet only to take a blade in her side. With a curse she twisted away and lashed another strike at a wounded knight, but the blow rebounded harmlessly off the woman's shield. Somewhere lightning jagged again, and Wiegraf laughed.

Sudden blinding light erupted out of the ground, throwing wild strobing shadows on nearby walls. Agrias flinched, holding up an arm to shield her eyes from the blast, as Jasmine's white arts tore through Wiegraf and into the sky. The man himself gasped and grunted, obviously trying not to scream.

Then the light winked out. Wiegraf dropped to the ground.

His remaining subordinates, seeing this, stared at the body for a heartbeat before turning as one to flee into the night, cloaks flapping, boots kicking up muddy spray. Agrias let them go, instead limping over to Wiegraf and toeing him.

He moaned in response, apparently still alive. Coughing, he rolled over and tried to push himself to hands and knees, only to collapse back into the mud again. Rain murmured into his soft cloak, plinked off his mangled armor.

Squishing footsteps turned into Ramza approaching. Though he was covered in blood and still bleeding from several serious wounds, he stared down at the other man's body without expression. "Goodbye, Wiegraf."

"A... Aries," whispered the fallen knight, fumbling under his chest for something in a pocket. "Can't... can't die...."

"Aries?" repeated Jasmine softly. "Does he have a stone too?"

"Can't... die here...." continued Wiegraf, his voice growing in steely intensity. Lightning glittered off something hard and shiny in his fist. "Have to... yes... help me...."

Jasmine swallowed. "I... don't think he's talking to us."

Ramza shook his head, then bent down to grab the thing. "Thanks, Wiegraf."

As his hand closed over the stone, Wiegraf exploded. Searing violet light, piercing the eyes. Ramza flew into a wall, cracking several wooden planks, then tumbled to the alley.

When Agrias could see again, Wiegraf was gone. Something horned and monstrous stood in his place. Something immense and four-armed and laughing. "Oh, so this is what they do! Fantastic! Absolutely fantastic."

Ramza pushed himself to shaking feet, then scowled. "Wiegraf?"

"It's Velius to you, kid," countered the beast in a chuckling growl, flexing its arms. Above, lightning split the sky, followed by a rumble that shook shutters and bones alike. "I never knew this was what they did. The power, the knowledge... it's just incredible."

Swallowing, Ramza advanced a half-step forward and held up his fists, a defensive stance. "Lucavi, right? I've killed one of your kind before. A second one won't be hard."

Velius laughed, a booming sound, richly amused. "Oh, so confident. Save some for later, kid. We'll meet again." While his words still echoed in the alley, something flashed, and then he was gone.

Agrias sighed, letting the tip of her blade drop to the ground. "Great. Ramza, you okay? Everyone?"

He shifted a hollow gaze to her, but simply stood there while Jasmine invoked a glittering spell to heal him. Then he shrugged. "I'm tired of the rain. Let's do our waiting inside."

* * *

The _Holy Howler_ took only twenty hours to carry them from Gariland to Murond. Ramza slept for half of it and spent the rest seated at the edge of the deck, staring out over emerald waves. This time everyone left him alone.

Once in Murond, nobody glanced at him twice. With the blue mask on, he looked like any common mercenary or ninja, and he could almost hear the confident reasoning from the upright locals flowing around him in the clean dusk-lit streets: _This is Murond. There are no heretics in Murond._ His face staring out from every wall and corner could have been a goblin's for all it mattered here; the bounty posters were little more than decoration.

Still, Wiegraf had known he was coming, and probably still did. The Church remained far more dangerous than even the most hopeful bounty hunter, so he kept his face down and eyes narrowed whenever the passed a patrol of knights or Knight Blades in the holy city. Some nodded at Knox; others stared at Agrias or Jasmine.

At the _Pride of Saint Ajora,_ Agrias found a fat balding innkeeper and did all the talking. How many rooms? Three. Meals? Yes, if you'd be so kind. Baths, to wash off the... blood? I mean, dust from your journey? Yes, please.

A pair of smiles, and gil changing hands. A charming serving girl who spoke emphatically and at length about her boyfriend as she ushered everyone to their rooms. Ramza ignored her and stripped out of his dirty clothes as soon as the door was closed.

Later, clean, he claimed a chair in the inn's private dining room, a rectangular space smelling of cedar and wood polish. Glowing portraits of St. Ajora's noble face stared piously out from three walls, with a depiction of the Child of God battling Limberry's monster on the fourth, all warmly illuminated by the light of a flickering bronze lamp. Ramza felt his lip curl and kept his gaze on the tabletop.

Alicia claimed the chair next to him, sparing him a black stare as she sat, while on his other side Knox's chair creaked under his weight. Lavian, Vector and Jasmine settled in around the table with minimal fanfare. Once everyone was seated, Agrias leaned back against the closed door and said nothing.

Six pairs of eyes shifted to Ramza. His jaw tightened. "What?"

"Do you have a plan yet?" Agrias' voice was low and cool.

"Of course." Lifting his gaze from the table, he shot her a scornful look. "They know we're here, and they'll be expecting us to sneak in. Or hack our way in. So instead we'll walk right in the front door."

Clothing shifted as those around the table exchanged uncertain glances. Eventually Alicia twisted to punch his shoulder. "That's a stupid idea."

He rolled his eyes and turned to face her. "Think. They have services every day in the Hall of the Blessed, don't they? The guards there are only ceremonial, I think. Someone, maybe Vector, can check on that tomorrow to see if it's true. Then, if it is, Lavian will attend the next service dressed as a noble, with, say... three of us as bodyguards. Once we're inside we'll slip into some hallway and find our way to Funeral. Everything's all connected there, isn't it?"

"I think so," frowned Knox. "I was here once, when I was younger."

Silence reigned for a moment until Lavian arched a thin, pointed eyebrow. "Why me?"

Ramza shifted his gaze to her. "You look like a noble."

"We're all nobles."

"Yeah, but you look the most like one."

She shrugged. "Fine. Who else?"

"Me, Alicia and Vector."

Agrias and Knox opened their mouths at the same time, but the Holy Knight spoke first. "Why?"

He nodded at her armor. "You stand out too much, you and Knox. And unless Jasmine wants to take out the nose ring, she'll draw too many stares."

Knox pursed his lips but nodded. "Okay. Makes sense." Agrias clicked her tongue in irritation but didn't argue.

"One of you should take my robes," suggested Jasmine, dark eyes flickering from face to face around the room. "Getting from the Hall to the main body of the Church will be easier if one of you looks like a priest."

"I'm the noble," pointed out Lavian dryly. "I'm not gonna be the priest too."

"Not me," grumped Alicia.

Vector grinned and ran a hand through his hair. "I... don't think I'd make a, um, very convincing priest. Because... yeah."

Ramza sighed. "Fine. I'll carry them with me, and throw them on if I need to."

"A heretic impersonating a priest." Lavian smiled. "Funny."

"I'm sure they'll all be laughing," muttered Agrias, pushing herself from the door. "But I'm going to get some sleep. I suggest we take watches tonight, as well. Usual order?"

"Usual order." Ramza planted hands against the table and closed his eyes for a moment before pushing himself to his feet. "Everyone, sleep with one eye open. Trust no one here."

Like Agrias, after leaving the room he shuffled upstairs and made for his bed. What sleep he found gave him only icicles and freezing blood and dead brown eyes staring back at him. His watched elapsed with no incident save for Vector's tossing and murmuring and Alicia's snoring from the next room.

The next day held nothing but waiting. First, waiting for Vector to return confirming that the Hall was indeed open for service every day at noon, and then waiting for the following day. He didn't leave their collection of rooms, instead whiling away the time shuttered up in crowded privacy. Alicia grumped at everybody, and Lavian and Jasmine bickered. Agrias beat him at chess, Vector beat him at dice, and Alicia beat him in the shoulder whenever he said anything she didn't like. Once he actually punched her back, likewise in the shoulder, just in case she wanted to fight, but she only glared at him for the next two hours. Knox did little but write in the little book of poetry he carried around.

That night was much like the first, only hotter and more humid. The frostbite in his dreams was actually a pleasant respite.

When the next midday finally rolled around, he found himself crowding into the grand and opulent Hall of the Blessed. A massive round chamber with a dome standing some sixty paces off the marble floor, the Hall boasted fancifully-painted sacred images on the walls and ceiling wherever there wasn't shining gold leaf or stained glass instead. A glittering constellation of silver lamps, several dozen at least, hung at regular intervals and cast the entire space in sweaty and near-blinding illumination. Floor worn to grey smoothness under generations of booted feet led the four of them past dark pews worn to smoothness under generations of backsides, towards a vine-carved archway leading into the periphery of the Hall.

A dress-clad Lavian ducked through it, fanning herself with a flower-patterned silk fan that looked far less natural in her hand than a sword did. Ramza followed with Alicia and Vector, lips thinned behind the mask concealing everything but his eyes. The hallway was broad enough for five people abreast but they walked along in a cluster, Lavian at the front and everyone else behind. More arches just like the first drifted past, leading to different views of the pews and the thousand-odd people jostling politely about for seating space. A constant buzz of conversation echoed off hard walls and corners, and the smell of incense competed with those of sweat and perfumes. A handful of others shared the hallway with them, the clever and pious taking shortcuts to more ample seating, wherever it was. None spared them any attention at all.

Before long Lavian took another, smaller corridor away from the concourse, and the echoing chatter grew slowly more distant as calm befitting a library displaced it. Only a handful of lamps, far more plain, hung here, casting warm and flickering shadows on stone and wooden doors, as to studies or confessionals.

Moments later a tall figure ducked out of an adjoining hallway some distance ahead. A priest.

Lavian hesitated, then continued on, probably hoping to pass without incident, but the priest shuffled to a halt a few paces away. "How may I help you, child?" he murmured.

"The... the washrooms," breathed Lavian. "Where are they, Father?"

"Ah. You want the next hallway, the bigger one just north of where you entered this one."

"Of course. Thank you, Father." Her voice carried an audible smile. Turning, she gathered folds of blue silk in gloved hands and turned around, sharing a grimace with Ramza.

He waited for her and the others to pass, then offered a dip of his head to the priest, the better to keep his eyes hidden. Once Alicia stalked past, he turned to follow her.

The hallway the priest indicated turned out to be both larger, as he'd claimed, and better-lit. And old man in oracles' robes shuffled towards them along its length, smiling. He said nothing, made no move to stop them.

Some thirty paces past the washrooms, Lavian slipped into a different hallway, one leading to a stairway spiraling upward. Once concealed by the rising helix of the stairs, Ramza paused to slip on Jasmine's priestess robes. They smelled like her soap, or perfume. Apple blossoms.

Now just behind Lavian, he followed her up two stories before the stairway emptied them into a squarish room just big enough to contain its mouth. There she hesitated again, making a face as she glanced at him.

"Just go at random," he whispered, hitching the robes. "Up and west. Funeral's office, if he has one, is bound to be that way somewhere."

She bit a lip, then smiled. "Which way's west?"

He sighed. "Right, from here."

"Right. Gotcha." Smiling again, she ducked out into yet another hallway, this one broad, rug-lined and empty. The right led to nothing but a door and a window so she angled left, into the dimly-lit distance. Ramza followed, past other doorways, open and closed, into dark and seemingly-unused rooms.

"Ramza Beoulve, aren't you?" spoke a voice from one. Male.

He spun, or tried to, but something hard struck him in the side of the head. Groggily he clutched it, fell to his knees, as his view of the hallway blurred and doubled. Then the cold floor rose up and smote him.


	8. Reaching for the Sun

_What was that, my sweet sweet nothing?  
I can't hear you through the fog_  
_If I holler, let me go  
If I falter, let me know  
_-- Moby, "When It's Cold I'd Like To Die"

Chapter Eight: Reaching for the Sun

"You're going to cut your fingers off if you keep that up, you know."

Agrias paused, scowling at her dagger, but didn't glance up at Knox. Didn't stop either. A snap of her wrist, and steel glittered in a bar of afternoon sunlight. Two full flips and she caught it again, handle-first. Pause. Snap, flip flip catch.

"Seriously, Agrias. It's hard to watch you. I'd like it if you stopped."

"Watch something else, then," she muttered, flipping the thing again. Along with the sunlight, breeze drifted into the inn room through the open shutters. Breeze and the vague smell of fish, something common to every port city she'd ever seen. Even a half-mile inland the smell still hadn't completely faded, though it took a stiff breeze to bring it this far. _I hate fish._ Snap, flip flip catch.

Knox's dark eyes followed the flashing arc of the dagger. "I know you're nervous," he murmured, "but they're probably fine. They can all fight well, and Lavian's got a good head on her shoulders." Jasmine, sprawled on the bed, snorted but didn't look up from the book she was reading.

"I'm not nervous." Going to Murond, stealthing into the Church itself. _What a stupid plan. Trust Ramza to come up with something like that. Does he really think it'll work?_ Snap, flip flip... and her fingers clapped shut over nothing.

Glancing up, she glared at Knox, but the big man only handed the dagger back to her. "Can't you just pace? Bite your nails, maybe? Do something normal people do?"

"God damn it. Fine." Mouth twisting, she sheathed the dagger back on her belt, then folded arms over her chest and stared out the window. Cloudy outside. Only a few, though. Puffy and fleecy and white. One foot started tapping against her opposite knee but she stilled it instantly.

"You want a book?" Jasmine's voice was soft, pleasant, meant to be inoffensive. "I have a few here, if you're interested. _Elements of Elements? The Veil and the Rod?_"

"No, it's fine." Sighing, Agrias let her head thump back against Jasmine's bed, let her eyes slide shut. "How long have they been gone now? Four hours? Five?"

"More like two," chuckled Jasmine. Paper whispered as she flipped a page. "At most. Look at the angle of the sun."

"No, you're probably right." Grimacing, Agrias lifted a tired hand to rub her forehead. "I suppose for all we know they're just sitting there listening to the service like good little...." A sound from the hallway caught her attention and she paused, frowning. Footsteps. _Running_ footsteps.

The room's door slammed open, crashing against the wall, and Vector skidded back with a strangled yelp before Agrias even realized she'd risen and half-drawn her blade on him. Alicia and Lavian stood behind him, winded and injured; a nasty lump on Alicia's temple was leaking blood, the same color as her hair, and a gash along Lavian's arm had stained the blue silk black. Vector sported no visible wounds but he stood favoring his right leg, and his plain face was tight against pain.

Agrias blinked, sliding her sword back into its scabbard. "What happ... wait. Where's Ramza?"

Vector's face scrunched up in unease, but Lavian pushed past him into the room and shook her head. Feathery black hair lay clinging to the sweat on her cheeks. "Taken. Eight guys came out of nowhere and knocked him over the head. We fought, but there were too many. We barely got out of there alive."

"Taken." Agrias stared at the other woman for a moment, heart pounding. "Where?"

"In the temple," muttered Alicia, shuffling in beside Lavian, as Vector did the same. "Couple floors up."

"Gotcha." Nodding, Agrias turned for the door. "Let's go. They can't have--"

A strong hand on her wrist held her back. Turning, she glared up at Knox for the second time in minutes. Tugging did nothing; his grip was like iron. "Let _go_. There's no time to waste."

He shook his head. "They'll be expecting us. We need to wait and think."

She bared her teeth at him. "Wait? If the Church has him, do you have any _idea _what they're going to do to him?"

"You can't save him right now." His voice was quiet, grim, and his eyes humorless. "If Ramza were here, he'd stop you too."

Scowling, Agrias paused to glance at the other faces in the room. Lavian was staring haggardly at the floor, while Alicia grimaced, touching the wound on her head. Vector's nervous smile hadn't gone away, though now it looked sickly and he'd shut his eyes, and Jasmine simply stared in open worry out the window, towards the city's center.

"Fine." Shaking free of Knox's grasp, she stepped to kick the door shut, harder than was necessary; wood shuddered back open after striking the frame, and she kicked it again for good measure. "Then we wait and we think. No one's leaving this room until we have at least the beginnings of a plan."

* * *

In an unused chamber full of worn choir robes and empty crates, among motes of dust floating through bars of pale afternoon sunlight, Barinten stood rubbing his hands and smiling. "The Church accepted him, you say? They'll pay the bounty?"

Malak nodded. Dark of skin, eye, hair and mood, he wore a scowl as he always did, even when happy. "Yes. All fifty thousand. You just have to meet the High Priest in his study an hour from now so he can talk to you."

"Excellent." Barinten pondered this, then nodded. "Then let's go. The dust in here is offending my senses."

"Wait." Malak reached under his pale shirt and rummaged around for a moment before coming up with two gems. "I found these on his person. Took them before the Church men arrived."

"Oh?" Lifting his eyebrows, Barinten swiped the things from his subordinate, then examined them more closely. Two egg-sized gemstones, one a ruby, the other maybe... topaz? They looked to be worth a fortune. Even without the inscribed Scorpio and Taurus symbols. "As I thought." _Unbelievable, that one man was simply walking around with two of these. They're in better hands now._

"What are they?"

"Zodiac Stones."

"What?" Malak's usually-impassive face twitched in surprise, and his dark eyes snapped up to meet Barinten's own. "They're real?"

Barinten chuckled, rubbing his thumb across Taurus. Both stones glittered, even in indirect light. "Of course. But you should hold them for now, actually," he decided, thrusting the things back to the other man. "At least until after my meeting with Funeral. I don't want him to realize we have them."

Malak swallowed, then grabbed the stones and tucked them back into his shirt. "Grand Duke?"

"Hmm?"

"What... why are we even here?" The one-time orphan's eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at his now-empty hand. "Why are we doing this stuff? The bounty is nothing."

Barinten snorted, tugging a lace kerchief from his coat to wipe the dust from his face. "To me, yes. I earn that much in taxes in less than a month. But to everyone else, it's huge. My question was, why? What's so important about this Ramza fellow? Even the murder of a cardinal shouldn't warrant that much of a reward."

Malak offered a slow nod. "That's why you've had me following him, then."

"Indeed. The Church wants him, for some reason. Anything they want, if in our hands, is a tool to compel their allegiance."

"So, the stones."

"The stones." Barinten turned to step out into an empty window-lined corridor, and this time Malak followed in his usual sullen silence.

Long moments passed with only the hollow echoes of their own footsteps as company, but eventually Malak sighed and kicked at the rug-lined stone floor. "I wonder how Rafa's doing. She seemed off the last time I saw her."

Barinten knuckled his lips, concealing another chuckle. Rafa was a beautiful girl, and power accorded a man certain... privileges with the women under him. Cheap tavern fare had been sufficing to fill his needs since leaving Riovanes, but returning there would be a wonderful thing. Another glass of wine in place of the common ale. "She's just a woman, Malak. It's probably that time of the month."

Malak grunted, scratched an eyebrow, and said nothing.

"Why don't you go find out where they're keeping the Beoulve kid?" he continued as they rounded a corner in the hallway. "I want to keep current with what they do with him. If they find out he doesn't have the stones, we may need to hasten our departure."

The Hell Knight nodded once, then spun on his heel and trotted back in the other direction. Barinten allowed himself a smile in the privacy of the hallway.

From there it was back to his plush guest suite for an hour of silence, solitude and thought. There was much he could do with not one, but two Zodiac stones. Much.

All too soon, however, he found himself being escorted into High Priest Funeral's study, a hexagonal chamber ten paces on a side and glittering with gold. Gold on the walls, golden lamps, gilded desk and furniture, even thread-of-gold woven into the crimson floor rug. In all, the color of the space suggested money and blood. Barinten smiled.

"Ah! Grand Duke Barinten." The High Priest, a man wrinkled as though he'd lain a week in the sun, clasped hands together before his ruby-robed chest and offered a tiny dip of his head. "I'm pleased you accepted my invitation."

"Not as pleased as I am for having received it, Excellency," countered Barinten with a grand and sweeping bow. "I had not anticipated meeting you personally on my pilgrimage to Murond, so I do so now with great honor and humility."

Funeral chuckled. "Ah, pilgrimage, is it? Sit, sit." Gesturing to an empty birch armchair, the old man pulled a similar one from behind his desk and took his own advice.

Barinten settled into the chair, tugging his coat straight. "Indeed. With all the ills plaguing Ivalice in these days it seemed to me paramount that its leaders keep the foundation of their faith strong."

"Quite right, my man. Quite right." Steepling bejeweled fingers before his face, Funeral peered across the table with shrewd dark eyes. "So you stumbled across the heretic by mere happenstance, you say?"

"Indeed, Excellency. One of my men caught him in the act of raiding this very structure, and apprehended him."

"How fortunate." The old man chuckled again, shaking his head at the folly of the unworthy. "Although, to be fair, had you not been here, I'm certain my knights would have caught him in very short order."

_Stupid old bastard._ Barinten smiled. "Without doubt, Excellency. The skill and devotion of Murond's defenders is legendary." _Probably would have slipped through your clumsy fingers yet again._ "But he was the correct one? The man you were looking for?"

"So he was," quavered the High Priest. "Now the pious masses can sleep without fear for their lives and faith."

_I'm sure they were worried sick, you pompous ass._ "I admit curiosity, Excellency. Has he been killed already?"

"Oh, so soon?" Funeral shook his head with a scornful chuckle. "No, he's still alive. For now."

Barinten shared in the other man's laugh. _I wonder how long they'll torture him before they let him die._

After a moment the old man waved a dismissive hand. "So, my good fellow. What do you think of fair Murond so far?"

_Even your whores are stuck-up._ "A delightful place, Excellency. Truly a treasure among the mortal realm."

* * *

Ramza came to with a groan and a pounding headache. He lifted a hand to touch his forehead, only he didn't, because it was confined. Chains rattled with the motion, and even opening his eyes provided no light at all. _Dark? Chains?_ Memory swirled like fog around a walking man's ankles, unclear, but eventually he nodded to himself. _Oh, yeah. They captured me._

As the soft confusion of grogginess dissipated, he tried moving what he could, only to find that they'd chained him spread-eagle to some horizontal wooden surface. His head was free to move, and that was it. At least they'd left his clothes on.

Sighing, he let his eyes slide back shut. The cell was cold, a little clammy; his fingers curled into icy fists. Underground? _Of course. Where else would they keep prisoners?_ The deep subterranean silence made his breath a rasp in his ears, his pulse a fluid and erratic thumping.

With nothing to do, he waited. Drifted. An itch on his chest made him squirm but after a time it faded to a mere buzz. Eventually he dozed.

Clanking iron jerked him back awake, though. Blinking, he stared through the darkness towards the sound's origin, but shortly a rectangle of blinding light opened with a metallic squeak. He jerked his head away, squeezing his eyes shut, but a violet afterimage still strobed in his vision.

The door scraped shut as soon as it had opened. Ramza waited, then opened his eyes a crack. There was still light in the chamber, golden and flickering. A lamp. All it showed him was the wall to his left, featureless grey stone hung with twisted and shining metal instruments at regular intervals, as in decoration.

"I'm glad to see you're up," greeted a familiar voice. Shadows jumped as the lamp clinked onto some solid surface.

Ramza rolled his head towards his visitor. "Wiegraf."

The other man bared his teeth in a grin. Wiegraf hadn't shaved in a few days, it seemed, allowing a dusting of golden stubble to cover the debonair lines of his cheeks and chin, and his cold hazel eyes didn't share the smile on his lips. "You don't seem surprised. Or afraid, really. I admit I'd expected otherwise."

_Afraid? Of torture?_ Ramza didn't even bother trying to explain it. "What do you want?"

Wiegraf's smile disappeared and he leaned abruptly forward, eyes narrowing, cloak swirling. "Where are the stones?" His voice was quiet now, refined in its soft menace.

Ramza frowned. "Stones?"

The other man sighed, letting his head drop in weary resignation. "Don't pretend to be a dumbass, Ramza. Any more than you actually are, I mean. I thought we were past that point in our relationship." His head snapped back up and his mouth tightened. "Scorpio and Taurus. Where are they? Who has them? The Oaks woman? Who?"

_What the hell is this? A mind game? Who the hell has them if he doesn't?_ "Piss off."

The Shrine Knight simply stared down at him for some time without expression. Then he lifted his gaze to the eager instruments of pain adorning the walls. "You have one more chance to be civil, Ramza. Tell me where the stones are."

Ramza closed his eyes and waited.

Another sigh. "As you please. You'll come to regret your decision, you stupid little brat. Maybe after a few days I'll ask you again." Metal jingled as he retrieved the lamp, and then his slow footsteps approached the door, which squeaked a third time. "Hamilton. You may begin."

"Yes, sir," came another man's soft voice. More footsteps shuffled, and then the door creaked shut.

Clenching idle fists, Ramza opened his eyes to regard his torturer. The man didn't look the part, somehow, dressed in the plain earth-toned breeches and shirt a craftsman might wear, and his smile-lined face belonged to somebody's endearing grandfather.

Hamilton retrieved a gleaming steel dagger from a nearby tray, examined it briefly in the lamplight, then offered a friendly smile. "Ramza, isn't it? I'm delighted to meet you."

Ramza nodded.

"I hope you don't mind if I talk while I work," murmured the other man, as a few tugs with the dagger sliced through Ramza's shirt. "I find it makes things go a little more smoothly for everyone, and silence between two can always be a little awkward, don't you think?" A whisper of cloth, and then the shirt was gone, puddled on the wooden surface of the table.

Letting his eyes slide shut once more, Ramza forced his fists to relax. Sudden chill pebbled the skin on his exposed stomach and chest.

"I have to admit I was a little nervous to meet you," continued Hamilton, now slicing away his breeches. "You're the most notorious heretic in my lifetime, you know, so I was fussing over what to wear, earlier. I wanted to convey a good expression, you see. It's only polite." A gentle tug, cloth sliding under skin, and the breeches disappeared somewhere. "But then I told myself, 'You know, this Ramza fellow doesn't seem to hang on formalities. I doubt he'd judge a man by his appearance.' Would you?"

"No." A whisper.

"As I thought." The knife clicked back onto the tray, softly, placed there by a man considerate of every sound he made. "I like to know my clients, you know. To understand them. It's so much more difficult torturing a stranger."

When the first red-hot needle found the flesh under his fingernails, Ramza screamed. Struggling to stay silent was for people with pride, people who cared about things. He had nothing. He screamed until he went hoarse, then started whimpering instead.

* * *

"Bad news."

Knox glanced up from his chess game against Jasmine to find Vector closing the inn room's door behind himself. The man was somehow dripping wet despite the cloudless sunshine outside.

"What news? Spill it." Agrias' voice was sharp, impatient, as it had been for the day since Ramza's capture.

The handler swept wet hair from his forehead, then offered a half-smile, half-grimace. "There's... guys all over. Guys with swords, in the streets. Way more than when we got here, and though they're not, um... none of them are wearing Church colors, but I think it's safe to say that that's who's... you know, putting them there."

"Church men," repeated Agrias in a growl. Her narrowed eyes were hard sapphires pinning the other man in place. "How many?"

"Lots." Vector cleared his throat, shifted his feet. "I saw... I think fifteen just between the Holy Faith guardpost and here."

"Looking for us."

"Yeah. I think."

"Great." Agrias unfolded herself from the bed, then strode to peer out the open window, into the dirt street below. Her golden braid swayed as she shook her head. "We'd be foolish to go out in the open, then, for now. Damn it."

Alicia, curled into a ball in the corner, scowled at Vector and gave his knee a backhanded slap. "Why are you wet, moron?"

"And why do you smell like... mildew?" wondered a frowning Lavian.

"Oh." Vector grinned, ducking his head. "Sewers. Since they're probably holding him underground, I thought... well, there are ways through the city that don't take us... take us through the streets, so I thought maybe we should go in through the bottom, so to speak. Rather than the front door."

Alicia recoiled, wiping her hand hastily on one knee. "God. You were in the _sewers?_ Disgusting."

"_Storm_ sewers," corrected Vector, clearing his throat. "They carry water away so the streets don't flood in the rainy season. Pretty clever, actually."

"Very clever," agreed Agrias as she turned from the window. "But will they carry us to the temple?"

"That's what I was... I don't know yet. I need to look into it. More."

"Do that." The Holy Knight paused to knuckle her lips. "If you find something useful, we could be going in there as early as tonight, I suppose. I'm going to try to get some sleep."

"Yeah." Alicia climbed to her feet, shooting Vector a sideways scowl as she did so. "And you should either leave or bathe. That puddle you're leaving is going to make it stink in here."

Jasmine tilted her head. "Why are we even in this room, anyway? It's even smaller than mine and Alicia's."

"Who knows?" grunted Alicia. "Nobody thinks."

As though her words were a signal, everyone else in the cramped room stood and shuffled towards the door. Knox rose as well, taking care not to disturb the chess game on its painted-canvas board, but, having nowhere to go, stayed in place and blinked about.

In moments Lavian closed the door... from the inside. Folding arms over her chest, she eyed him up and down once, then gave her head a toss and gazed out the window. "Hey."

_She just checked me out, didn't she?_ He felt his eyebrows lift, but returned the scrutiny. Pale skin with just a few freckles, watery blue eyes. Jaw-length black hair, soft like feathers. A swordswoman's trim figure, properly proportioned but unexaggerated, unassuming. "Hey, yourself."

* * *

Pain. Hours of pain. A crimson blur, muscles taut, rasping breath through clenched teeth. Skin slick with sweat, with blood; manacles digging into wrists, into ankles, sharp and numbing. Tugging. Never resting.

Images. Ice and heat in equal portions. A cool breeze, the smell of dead leaves, of rain in damp earth. The laughter of children. Slumber's insidious fingers, sneaking in and pulling, murmuring, held at bay by panting twitches of desperation. Water dripping in the cold darkness; a bell tolling in his mind, jerking him awake again. A bell, and a woman's voice. His own name.

A garden. Igros? The courtyard. Springtime now. Whispering plum blossoms under swollen grey stormclouds, but no rain yet. Just breeze, warm for the season. Breeze and smiles and a slim hand in his own, fingers twined together like a braid of ribbons.

_Here_. Smiling, tugging him along, she angled for a patch of short emerald grass, waving in the breeze. A bed of flowers nearby, pink and crimson and white, within a border of head-sized grey sentinel stones. Breeze carried lilting sweet perfume as petals danced. _Come, rest here. You're so tired._

"Tired." The word tumbled from wooden lips. "Can't rest yet."

_I know. I understand._ Another smile, glowing like the absent sun. _But no one can swim forever. Spend a moment with me? It's pretty here._

"I'm... yeah. Okay." A gentle hand tugged him down, to the grass, and he sat. Grass and rock paths and trees waving in the murmuring breeze, all around. "It's different now."

_It's always different. Memory changes with you, and never quite matches what's there._ Seated beside him, she gave his hand a squeeze. _What do you remember?_

"I remember you." A bumblebee inspected one of the flowers, crawling around its shifting nectar oasis. "Always remember you."

Laughing, she released his hand, then flopped back into the grass and stretched, back arching, fists over her head. _I like it here. It's easy to relax. But you can't yet, can you? You have to be strong._

"Strong." He swallowed. "I... but I don't want to be strong. I want to be with you."

_Really?_ Her voice was softer now. Another swirl of breeze among green leaves. _That's what you want? Do you really want me to see you like this? You're tired, but this isn't the you I know._

"Yes, it is." His eyes stung, and he closed them. "I've always been like this, and you just... never saw it. By the time it was out in the open, you were already gone."

_That's not true._

"It is." Exhaling, he let himself fall back to the grass, lying beside her, and lifted his gaze to the sky. Bruised and menacing clouds, with darker fleecy tendrils twisting at their edges as they drifted silently along.

_I'm not gone._ Red fabric whispered as she rolled towards him; soft fingers touched his face, traced the ridge of his brow. Serious eyes, inches away from his own. _I'm always here._

"No, you're not." His fists clenched, pulling stalks of grass from the ground. "I'm alone."

_Hush._ Thin lips quirked a smile. _You think I'd lie to you? About something like this?_ Her palm, a warm pressure against his tear-damp cheek.

"No. But you're not real." He gripped her wrist, stared up at her. "She's dead. You can't be her."

Her eyes widened. The smile disappeared.

"She's dead. You're dead." His grip tightened, fingers curling together around her flesh.

Her lips moved, speaking words he couldn't hear. Then she faded to mist, carried away on the breeze, leaving him holding nothing.

He stared at his hand, straightening fingers once more. And then everything else disappeared as well, shifting to white fuzz that faded to a pain-spiked darkness as the needles and chains returned.

Ramza coughed, grimacing, eyes squeezed shut as they leaked warm tears back into his hair. He couldn't move, couldn't do anything but keep his muscles tense against the weights that threatened to rip him in two.

Hamilton had done... something, had affixed the chains on his wrists and ankles to some device with water weights, and every few heartbeats another drop of water plinked into each, making them a tiny bit heavier. A tiny bit closer to pulling him apart. His only defense, rigid and unrelaxing muscles to keep the weights at bay, came with a price as well, in addition to the expected cramps: there were needles in his flesh, twisted into his arms, legs and torso, coated with something painful. Salts, maybe? Mild poison? He didn't know, but it made clenching his muscles hurt more, hurt like fire. He could relax and be crippled for life, if not killed, or resist it and bring even more pain on himself.

The pain was... he didn't know a word for it. He'd grown up hearing tales of martyrs, of Ajora's first disciples refusing to disavow him under the question. They'd been able to embrace the pain, his teachers had explained, to make it an ally, even a servant, but there was nothing of that for him. Either it was starry-eyed bullshit, the sort of breathless legend impressed upon the young in order to scrub history to a polished shine, or those people had been much stronger than he was. Far from solidifying his resolve, torture was having the opposite effect. It dragged out the child in him, the cowering huddled ball of paper-thin resolve and the absence of reason, of tears and servile submission.

They were going to break him. Literally and figuratively. He knew that, now. They'd break him and he'd admit he had no idea where the hell the stones were or who had them. Maybe he'd just make something up, anything his captors wanted to hear, if it would make the pain stop.

_Be strong? She has no idea._ She'd been far too innocent. Probably couldn't even have imagined all the terrible things people could do to each other, certainly not enough to help him endure them. _Doesn't matter. She's dead anyway._

In darkness lit only by the random flashes of light in his vision, Ramza wept and shivered and tried not to vomit from the sheer suffocating pain.

Later, something registered in his sluggish awareness, and it took him some time to realize that Wiegraf had arrived. Again the lamp was throwing thick dancing shadows on the far wall, shadows of stiff limbs and needles heaving with every shallow breath. The Shrine Knight stood motionless, like a statue, staring down at him with a frown as the lamplight painted warm hues over his cloak and armor.

Unconcerned, Ramza let his eyes drift shut. He didn't need any distractions.

"Do you know what day it is, Ramza?" came the other man's thoughtful murmur. "It's Wednesday."

His breath caught, limbs twitching, chains clicking. Then he resumed his normal rhythm, punctuated, rasping.

"You've been here for two days, Ramza. Two days with nothing but the pain. How does that feel?"

Another plink of water into the bucket at his feet, followed by another into the one past his head. They'd been in sync, in the beginning.

"I'm told this is unusual. Hamilton actually speaks quite well of you. He hasn't let up on you at all, not even to let you sleep. Do you know how rare it is to endure that? He says not one man in fifty could stand such a thing, and yet here you are."

A pause in his breath, just long enough to swallow past a throat long gone to rust.

"But the weights will destroy you eventually, of course. You can't fight mechanics. There's enough water in those reservoirs to rip a horse in half, not to mention a mere human, so you'll snap well before the buckets are full. Hamilton gives you another twelve hours. Maybe eighteen."

Fingers curling, then straightening. Jagged webs of stale lightning connecting the pinpricks of agony in his muscles.

"It'll be your spine that breaks, you know, once your joints are dislocated. You'll relax for just a blink, and then, _snap!_" Wiegraf chuckled. "How do you suppose that'll feel? To have only your skin and muscles holding you together?"

A whimper escaped his throat, cut off by another involuntary gasp. Muscles clenched further, driving the needles deeper, twisting.

Clothing rustled as the other man shifted. "You know... I admit I was puzzled. How do you stand it? Better men than you have cracked earlier... but then, over dinner, I figured it out. They _resisted_. They shouted and vowed and threatened and cursed, and wept at the end. But you wept at the beginning. Cried like a little girl, really." A pause. Another staggered pair of liquid drops. "You don't care at all, do you? To you, being tortured is just another way to pass the time, not really better or worse than any other alternative. You probably don't even care if you ever get out of here."

Heartbeat a rapid drumbeat in his ears, a staccato roar.

Wiegraf sighed again. "Hamilton heard you speaking earlier, you know. Talking to yourself. I suppose it's all starting to drive you mad by now, isn't it? Who did you see? God?"

Another plink of water. Another.

"No, of course not. Why would a heretic want to see God? That's silly." Another pause. "It's usually someone you care about, I've heard. The dreaded Ramza Beoulve doesn't care about anyone or anything... except maybe one person. Am I right?"

Ramza's eyes fluttered open, struggled to focus. Parched lips peeled apart in absent confusion.

Wiegraf shuffled forward, then leaned down, throwing his face into shadow. "I remember it, from earlier. We'd kidnapped her. Right? You snapped and disobeyed your brothers' orders to come looking for her. To save her from the frightful Death Corps."

Ramza swallowed. Pulled tighter, lifting the weights an eyelash higher, sending fresh waves of agony washing through his body. Heartbeat a hollow drum, racing.

A slow smile spread across the other man's face, pale teeth almost glowing in the indirect light. "How did that work? Get her back safe and sound, did you?"

Eyes narrowed. Fists clenched painfully tight now, shaking.

"Yessss." The word stretched out, a satisfied purr. "I was right. You saw Alma. Very pretty girl, she was."

Ramza's teeth clenched of their own accord. Something new arose in his chest, something sparkly, competing with the pain.

"Very pretty. Probably a very loving sister." Wiegraf's smile widened. "You two were close, weren't you? Seeing her neck snap right there, right in front of you... why, I imagine that must've broken your heart."

He opened his mouth to speak, and instead only coughed. Strained limbs trembled, tense.

The Shrine Knight straightened again, crossing arms over his gold-armored chest. "You want to meet her again? Fine. Tell me where the stones are."

_Meet her? She's dead._ He cleared his throat, swallowed and winced, before he could speak. "I... I'll... kill you."

"Oh?" Wiegraf tilted his head. "You? _You're_ going to kill me? What, right now?" He glanced about the cell, frowning.

Ramza nodded. "Kill you. Today."

"How ya gonna do that, Ramza?" Chuckling richly, Wiegraf slapped the taut chains, making them quiver. "You're tied to a rack! Even if I let you loose, I doubt you'd be able to move."

Ramza gasped as the weight tugging his feet shook and swayed. Needle-pain twisted through his chest, twining barbed roots through the soil of his body. "K... kill you."

Wiegraf pursed his lips, then shrugged. "As much as I hate to kill someone so bold... so be it. I've wanted to fight you again anyway, and it's not like we can't find the stones anyway, without your help." Spinning on his heel, he strode to the door and tugged it open. "Fetch me a priest."

A skinny youth in an acolyte's robe gaped into the room, then sketched a hasty bow. "Of... of course, sir." Swallowing, he straightened, then turned to run out of sight, white robe billowing about his ankles.

With a shake of his head, Wiegraf turned back and drew his sword. "Hamilton's busy," he explained, hacking clean through the ankle-chains, "or I'd have him unlock you. I want the satisfaction of killing a healthy Ramza, not one who might piss himself during the fight."

As the blade clove through the other set of chains, Ramza gasped and shook. Cramped muscles, burning and protesting, refused to acknowledge his commands by moving. Instead he just lay there and quivered, unable even to pluck the needles out of his body.

Some time later, the page returned with a fat priest whose eyes went round as his face as they slid to the rack. Wiegraf pointed his sword at Ramza. "Heal."

"Uh..." The priest swallowed, then donned a sickly smile. "Right." Swallowing again, he scurried across the floor, then hovered at the side of the rack, uncertain.

Ramza rolled his head to gaze up at the man. "Water."

"Um, first the... needles." Licking his lips, the robed man gripped one such gently, then tugged it free with a snap of his wrist.

Ramza closed his eyes and waited.

A quarter-hour later, with the wounds in his flesh closed but the blood still drying, he rolled off the rack and to the floor, before Wiegraf's motionless boots. There he lay for a moment before pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. The room swam around him, and his muscles moved only in short jerks, barely able to keep him upright. The Shrine Knight watched him impassively, brown eyes studying him, but Ramza stared instead at his open hands, thinking. _There's no way I can react like this. If I fight him, I have to anticipate._ "Equipment?"

Wiegraf barked a laugh, striding to push the door shut. "Don't be silly. You're lucky I let you get healed." The fat priest remained next to the heavy door, wringing his hands.

Ramza nodded, unsurprised, and examined the room. One wall nothing but spikes, for whatever reason. Hard floors. Rectangular, not square, eight paces by ten, with the rack in the middle. Enough room to fight... barely. _No weapons or armor, either. There's stuff on the walls, though._ His eyes drifted over the gleaming instruments of torture on the walls before he dismissed them. _More like tools than weapons. At least some are sharp, though. What about... oh, the chains. Maybe I--_

Wiegraf drew his blade and lunged before he could finish thinking. Grimacing, Ramza twisted out of the way, barely avoiding a stab that would have disemboweled him. In the process he stumbled, actually tripping over one of the quarter-full water buckets. As the floor punched the breath from his lungs he rolled away, grabbing blindly for the length of chain still looped through the container's handle. His hand closed over cold iron, and with a wild clatter it slid free of its confinement.

He managed to stagger to his feet only to find that Wiegraf hadn't attacked again. Instead the man was simply watching him with a small, pitying smile. "A chain? Honestly?" The red-cloaked Shrine Knight shook his head. "Good luck." His sword slashed down.

Ramza dove for cover, but to no avail; lightning struck into and through him, sizzling through his bones and drawing a choked cry from his throat, but the pain was nothing compared to what he'd just endured. What he could still feel. Ignoring it, he rolled towards the door and to his feet, using his momentum to lash the arm-length chain towards Wiegraf.

Iron bounced harmlessly against a gold-trimmed shield, and the other man laughed. "Pathetic. I had higher hopes for a man like you." Dancing forward, he hacked down with his sword, more playing than fighting.

Sidestepping the attack, Ramza snapped a kick at Wiegraf's plated legs, only to stagger back as a fresh bruise and a smarting ankle joined his tally of ills. _Stupid. This should be easy. Like fighting Gafgarion. Or... Agrias? He can't do anything without the sword, can he?_ Keeping his eyes fixed on his opponent, he waited.

With another laugh, Wiegraf slid forward, drawing his blade in a lazy backhanded slice. Ramza stepped into the attack, not away from it. The sword was sharp, too sharp, so instead he gripped iron links in each hand and caught the Shrine Knight's forearm rather than the blade. A tight circling gesture, a tug up towards his armpit, a twist of his torso. Plates shifted and bones snapped; Wiegraf's sword clattered to the cell floor. No shout, only a grunt. Lips thinned, Ramza completed his spin, propelling the other man forward.

Wiegraf clacked into the wall, then spun; a sweat-slicked grin twisted his stubbled face. "You're a slippery bastard," he rasped, tossing his shield aside with a metallic clatter; the thing was of little use now, with no functioning weapon hand. "I'd forgotten. I suppose I deserved that, but I won't be making the same mistake again." Glancing back, he grabbed a gleaming serrated dagger from where it hung on the wall behind him, then shifted it into a reverse grip in his off-hand. "All right. Let's go."

He charged again, but Ramza was ready. The chain whipped in a tight arc down at Wiegraf's other arm, but the man sidestepped the strike, using his momentum to score a wicked gash across Ramza's stomach.

Hissing, Ramza skidded back, but the Shrine Knight came on again, displaying only mild awkwardness at fighting with his left hand. Golden lamplight flashed off blood-webbed steel twice, three times, drawing two more sprays of crimson.

_Shit. This isn't working._ Ramza swallowed, shifting his grip on the ends of the chain, now slick with his own blood. _I need something new. Something--_

A chance presented itself and he acted without thinking. A backhanded slash left Wiegraf off-balance, too far extended. Ramza twisted to the man's open side, whipping the chain around, then completed his move and caught the other end. A quick tug drew iron links tight against the Shrine Knight's throat.

Wiegraf choked and gurgled, flailing, pawing at the chain. A wild strike with the knife hacked into Ramza's thigh, grated across bone; blinding pain sawed through the limb but he didn't let up, didn't let go. Weakened from the torture, he lacked the strength to break the other man's neck outright, but with one broken arm, Wiegraf likewise lacked the strength to claw free.

The dagger clattered to the floor but still the Shrine Knight struggled. Gritting his teeth, Ramza pulled harder, actually bending backwards to lift the man off the floor. A horrible rasping issued from Wiegraf's throat, a sound no human was meant to make, but it only made him squeeze tighter. _Die, already. I want you to die._

In moments the man went limp, becoming a dead armored weight. Ramza kept up the pressure with his chain anyway, for a slow count of twenty, before letting Wiegraf's corpse crumple to the floor.

Almost instantly the body exploded into radiating stabs of sapphire light, blinding him, as the howls of the resentful vanquished droned through his bones. Panting, dropping to his knees, he took the opportunity to close his wounds with a weak chakra, then did it again, while dead Wiegraf went about his transformation into living, angry Velius.

"Ha!" laughed the Lucavi, throwing his head back and flexing his four arms; sky-blue static arced in a brief sphere around him. "I didn't mean to do this, but if that's how you want to die, I'll let you!"

Ramza only had time to blink before two massive clawed fists seized his shoulders, and then he was flying over the table, across the room. The far wall punched into him, driving breath from his lungs, sending stars scintillating through his vision. He slid ungracefully to the floor, groaning and clutching his head.

Velius hopped over the table to meet him. Two savage punches rang into his skull, and then he was flying again. Crashing, falling.

Something was buzzing... rumbling somewhere. Thundering? No; Velius was laughing. Ramza coughed up blood, struggled to push himself to sit upright. Struggled to focus his swimming vision.

"What's the matter?" boomed Velius, horned head grinning, black eyes glittering like starlight on steel. "Can't you get up? You pathetic wimp."

Ramza planted hands on the floor, pushed himself to shaking feet, only to slide back down. _Damn it. I can barely move. He's too strong._ Drops of blood fell from his face, fracturing into crimson blossoms on his bare thighs.

"Come on!" roared the Lucavi, leaping atop the wooden table; the thing flexed and creaked under his massive bulk. "You said you were going to kill me! Where'd all that rage go? Lose it already?"

Concentrating on moving one arm, then a leg, Ramza managed to climb to his knees. There he slumped, vision blurring, swaying with every bubbling breath.

"You dumb bastard!" Velius hopped to the floor, causing cracks to spiderweb out through the stone under his feet. "Get up! Is anger the only thing that moves you now? Do I have to talk about Alma again?"

Ramza swallowed, lifting his head. Cold fingers curled into fists at his sides as a hollow pounding echoed through his chest.

"Aha! That's it!" Velius grinned again, stepping forward. "How's it feel knowing that you're going to die without avenging her? I arranged her kidnapping! I had her brought to Zeakden! I'm the one you hate! Come on!"

Shaking, Ramza slid up the wall until he was standing. "I'm not fighting to avenge her," he corrected in a whisper, eyes narrowing at the demon in front of him. "If I was, I'd have to kill myself, not you." As he spoke, he pushed himself from the wall and managed to remain standing on swaying legs. "What I'm fighting for is to correct people like who think you can get away with doing whatever you want. You can't. You reach for the sun, you get burned."

"Ha!" Velius shook with laughter. "Oh, that's great. Well, stop me, if you can."

Ramza didn't wait for him to finish. Instead he lunged forward, driving a fist towards the beast's middle, and struck what felt like wool-covered rock. Velius skidded backwards, growling, but he continued, raining blow after blow on the monstrous horror. Some connected, and some Velius managed to block, but he kept up the offensive, refusing to give his enemy a blink of respite.

"This is better," growled the Lucavi, crouching in a defensive stance as he swatted away another punch. "This actually hurts! Ha!"

Ramza ignored the moron's attempt at banter, instead driving him mercilessly back. Around the table. Punch after kick after punch, rippling impacts into a rocklike frame that still had bones to break.

"Shit," rasped Velius. He was bleeding now, staining his fur black, and he crouched awkwardly forward as through breathing hurt him. "You're pretty tough, you--"

Ramza cut him off with a fist to the teeth, splitting his knuckles in the process. Another punch, this one to the throat. No mercy. No conversation. Just a savage attempt to maim, to kill.

And then he stumbled. Too hurt, too tired. Reaching too far.

A clawed hand closed over his advancing fist. An open palm snapped into his chin, driving his head back, sending him skidding backwards.

Something stopped him. He growled, trying to rush the demon once more, but couldn't move. A line of cold pressure lanced through his chest.

Blinking, he glanced down to where a sharp spike protruded a foot from his ribcage. With a shaking hand he touched its tip, slicked and dripping with blood. Crimson droplets slid to bead at his fingertips and drop to the floor.

"Oh, hahaha!" Velius advanced lazily, taking his time. Making a show of it. Claws clicked on blood-spattered stone as he shuffled closer. "You really had me worried there for a moment, you know. And then you go and screw up, and _bam!_ Spike through the chest. Too bad."

_Spike. Yeah._ A whole wall of them, behind him. How stupid. But then, in a torture cell, it made... no. No rambling. He couldn't breathe, could barely move. Glistening ruby blood oozed out from around the spike, trickling down his stomach. Stars in his vision, feathers in his head. _Can't breathe._

Velius stopped a half-pace away. A grinning beast-mask, breath hot like an oven. "I told you you couldn't do it. Did you listen?"

Ramza snarled, spitting in the beast's face. Velius blinked, reaching a disgusted hand to wipe his face clean... and in the moment of distraction, Ramza reached out. Grabbed horns, tugged towards himself, towards the spike.

Iron slid smoothly into a dark eyeball, into and through. Scraped against a rock-hard skull without breaking through the back.

Velius convulsed, then exploded. Another flash of bluish gem-light. Another low, ghostly howl. Aries fell to the floor with a quiet click.

Twitching, shaking, Ramza gripped the spike in front of his chest and forced himself to pull. Cold metal grated against splintered bones, sending searing pain shooting through his limbs, but he kept at it. Pulled himself to the end of the spike, then reached behind and pushed himself the rest of the way off.

He dropped clumsily to the floor. Legs wouldn't move; he could still barely breathe. One trembling hand closed over bloody Aries, and then he was pulling himself along, crawling, towards the priest who still hadn't moved from his position near the door.

Thick blood still pumped from the hole in his chest, in his back. The room grew cold, but with no choice, he didn't stop. Crawled until a pair of boots swam in his vision. Gripped red-edged white robes which stretched but didn't rip under his weight. Pulled himself up with shaking arms, climbed the fat man until they were face-to-face.

"Heal," he commanded. No breath; just mouthing the words. "Or die." One hand tapped Aries against the other man's shoulder for emphasis.

The priest, wide-eyed and shaking, nodded quickly. Only his hands moved, the rest of him fearing to, and a few murmured words summoned a clear and sparkling light.

* * *

Malak skidded into the suite, breathing heavily, shoulders slumped. "Grand Duke," he breathed, "Ramza Beoulve is fighting Wiegraf."

Barinten marked his place in a book with one finger, then blinked up at the other man. "Fighting? Here?"

Malak nodded once, swallowing, and shuffled the rest of the way into the room. Grey cloud-light stretched in an angling bar behind him, leaving a long and fuzzy shadow on the marble floor. "Yeah. Wiegraf sent for a priest to heal him so they could fight."

"Oh." _Shit._ "In that case, it's time to get out of here, don't you think?"

A honey-dark face contorted into a scowl. "Why are you worried?"

Barinten set his book aside, then stood and began stuffing his belongings into a wooden chest. "I'm not. But we have no reason to stay here, apart from my daily chats with the High Priest, and I don't want to take any chances. Do you?"

"Whatever. I suppose not."

He nodded. "Help me pack, then."

* * *

It took three spells before Ramza could stand on his own power. His legs still shook, though, and the icy chill of the room still seeped into him, making him shiver. Too much blood lost.

He was also still mostly naked, apart from the loincloth they'd given him at some point. Teeth clenched, he directed a cold stare at the priest. "I'm leaving, and you're going to help me out."

The robed man swallowed, and some of the red drained from his round cheeks. "I'm... but you're a... a heretic...."

Ramza closed his eyes to summon what little of his patience remained, then snapped them open again. "Do what I tell you, or I'll kill you right now."

The priest opened his mouth, then paused, dark eyes wide and locked onto Ramza's own. Then he averted his gaze, nodding, though a grimace twisted his lips. "Okay. Fine."

Ramza ignored him, instead bending to retrieve the length of chain he'd used to strangle Wiegraf. After looping one end around his wrists, he held the other end out to the priest. "I'm a prisoner and you're my escort. To the outside. Take the most-secret route to the least-used gate you know."

Another frustrated sigh. "Fine."

"And find me some clothes. Take them from another prisoner."

"Fine."

Five minutes later the yet-unnamed priest led him up a spiraling iron stairway. Earth-damp stone glistened in the light of Wiegraf's lamp as they circled their way to the surface of the world. The stairway shortly let them out in a landing chamber, cold and featureless marble. From there the priest made for a rug-lined hallway glowing with diffuse reflected daylight, still bright enough to make Ramza squint. A handful of temple servants and soldiers wandered past in the other direction, some sparing him distasteful glances, but nobody made any move to stop him.

Before long the priest took another stairway, this one broad and graceful, up to the second floor. Ramza frowned at that but made no move to correct the other man.

As they ducked down a side corridor, furtive movement off to one side caught his attention. Tensing, he glanced that way, only to see a pair of men thirty paces away slipping through a doorway, out of his sight. One had been fat, older, clad in silks. He'd been familiar, somehow.

After a moment Ramza shook his head. There wasn't time to care.

One hallway led to another. Eventually the priest stopped in the middle of a corridor. Licking his lips, he half-turned and gestured at a tall window beside him. "Can... can you climb trees?"

Ramza said nothing, only stared at him.

The other man swallowed and grimaced. "Okay, you... look, if you get out this window, you can jump to that tree there and climb down to the ground. You should be able to make it to the wall of the grounds without trouble, and you can just climb over it."

Ramza nodded, shifting his gaze to the view out the window. He stood five paces above the cropped emerald grass outside. A maple tree stood just outside, with splaying branches hanging motionless within leaping distance. Colorless rain filtered through green leaves, pattered into the ground, against the smooth glass of the window.

"They'll catch you, you know. You might leave here, but you'll never leave the city alive."

Ramza frowned. "One question."

"Hmm?"

Without looking, he pointed past the other man, down the hallway. "Won't that guy see us?"

"What?" Cloth rustled as the priest turned. "I don't see any--"

Aries cracked into the back of the man's skull. He dropped into a boneless pile.

Rolling his eyes, Ramza smashed his stone into the window. Glass shattered, spilling outward, tinkling into the soft grass below. Climbing to the sill, he crouched there for a moment, letting rain patter into his face and hair as he gauged the distance to the nearest branch. And the strength in his legs.

With a shake of his head he leapt. A leafy landing, and then he was hanging by a branch as thick his legs. It was an easy matter to slide down, towards the trunk, to where he could simply drop to the ground. A few leaves floated down after him.

It took a moment before he could rise from his crouch on the grass. Rain continued to whisper down into his hair, into the rough commoner's garb the priest had found for him.

And then he was moving, jogging and stumbling past flower gardens, past fanciful topiaries. The wall, spike-topped iron bars sunk into parallel lengths of marble, stood only three paces tall. A leap, a handplant, and he was over it.

In the cobblestone street past the temple walls, a handful of people stopped to stare at him in open curiosity. He ignored them. Making sure that Aries lay hidden in a pocket, he brushed a few spare leaves from his clothes and continued on through the constant rainfall.

The inn remained just as he remembered it, which wasn't surprising after only a couple of days. Jaws clenched, he pushed through the common room door. Only a handful of patrons sat within -- he suspected it was the middle of the day -- and none paid him more than token attention as he hurried to the stairs.

In the upstairs hallway he paused. They'd rented three rooms, two for the four women and one for the other men and himself. He could hear voices from only one, the one Agrias shared with Lavian. Wiping a scowl from his face, he lifted the latch and shouldered inside.

Six heads glanced up as one at his entry. Then every face but Alicia's broke into a smile. Jasmine actually climbed to her feet and hurried over for a hug, only she paused with hands on his shoulders. Intelligent dark eyes scanned down his person before meeting his gaze, and her smile was tremulous, worried. "What... Ramza, what happened?"

"Oh." He glanced down at his clothes and plucked free a twig he'd missed after his escape from the temple. "I escaped, and had to jump through a tree to get out."

"No, I...." She trailed off, licking her lips and exchanging a glance with Alicia, who wore a peculiar expression, an unreadable one. Smiling again, Jasmine returned her searching gaze to his face. "No, you're... different now, somehow. What... did they... did they hurt you?"

"No."

"Are you sure?" She swallowed, and the smile disappeared. One gentle finger rubbed dried blood from his chin.

"Nothing happened. I'm totally fine."

"Ramza, you can...."

Brushing her hand away, he stepped past her and frowned at the floor in the middle of the room. When he'd burst in, everyone had been gathered around something, and now he saw what it was. Maps. Four different maps, two of the temple and two of the entire city, with random lines scribed over them in red and black ink. "What's this?"

Agrias cleared her throat and smiled, a relieved expression. "We were planning to get you out of there. By force. But now I guess we don't need to worry about it."

He lifted his gaze to hers, and she blinked. "By force?" he repeated. "Why?"

The Holy Knight frowned as though not understanding the question. "Why? Ramza, they captured you. You'd do the same for us."

He shook his head, heeling the door shut and stepping towards her. "No. We agreed that I might fall. I was an acceptable loss here. You should have kept going."

Agrias' face fell at this, the first time he'd ever seen her genuinely hurt, but shortly she covered it with a scowl. "Like hell, Ramza. You know better than to ask anyone to do something you wouldn't do yourself."

He matched gazes with her for a moment before sighing. "True."

Jasmine shuffled towards him, then plucked at his shirt. "What happened to your old clothes?"

"I... got different ones. Oh, that reminds me." Pausing, he fished the stone from his pocket and held it out to the room. "I got Aries."

Six pairs of eyes widened at this. "Aries?" echoed Knox, frowning. "Didn't Wiegraf have that?"

"Yeah."

Knox blinked without expression. "You killed him?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"What the _hell?_" snapped Alicia. Leaping to her feet, she crossed the floor in two quick strides and then punched him in the chest. "What the hell _happened_ to you?"

Ramza staggered backwards from the strike, though it hadn't been all that hard, and collapsed to one knee. With one hand planted against the floor, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a moment before climbing back to his feet.

Alicia still stood before him, though now she had the grace to look uncomfortable, even apologetic, not quite meeting his gaze. Past her, Vector was toying with his boot laces and Lavian was directing an uneasy grimace at the floor.

He shook his head tiredly. "I... saw someone in the temple," he recalled. "A noble I recognized, but I don't remember who it is. Someone from the north. Is anyone in town that I should know about?"

Vector chewed a lip, then grinned. "I heard... um, Grand Duke Barinten is... here. On pilgrimage."

"Barinten." Ramza nodded. The man had been trying to avoid him, trying not to be noticed. "He knows something. Let's go to Riovanes."

"Riovanes?" muttered Alicia, kicking at the floor. "Why? Are you out of your damn _mind_? We haven't even done anything _here._"

He glared at her. "We did. We learned we can't hack our way into the temple, and got Aries. Barinten was in there, trying to avoid me like he was afraid of something. He knows something. Riovanes will be easier than Murond. Let's go there."

Agrias sighed. "Alright, whatever. Riovanes."

He nodded. "Unless Vector can smuggle me out of here, we should plan on fighting at the docks."

Vector chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Sure. Just give me a few hours."

With another nod, Ramza stuffed Aries back into his pocket. "Good. Everyone else, get ready. This isn't going to be easy."


	9. Leisure and Crime

_I'm damned sure he's brought death here with him. I feel the cold touch of it on him._  
_-- _Eugene O'Neill, "The Iceman Cometh"

Chapter Nine: Leisure and Crime

"Can I join you?"

Ovelia blinked and glanced up from her prayer. Teta Hyral stood a few paces away, hands folded at her waist, smiling, though the sun behind her made the shadowed expression hard to make out. Dark hair rippled in an errant breeze, and a few fallen leaves swirled about her ankles, drifting along the uneven stone floor of the church ruins.

Smiling in return, Ovelia sat back on her heels and scooted over, patting the ground at her side. "Of course. Sit down."

Teta did so, gathering her dress first. "I thought I'd find you here," she murmured as she settled into position.

Ovelia glanced back at the free-standing doorway, through which she could see a sea of waving golden grass and, farther on, the interior wall of the Zeltennia Castle courtyard, a solid construction of pale grey stone. "Yeah. I think it's the most tranquil place in the whole Castle."

Teta chuckled, ducking her head. "I agree. That's why I came here too."

"Is that a new dress?" Nodding the question at her friend, Ovelia tilted her head and waited.

"It is." Teta fingered one sleeve as she spoke. The garment was a step away from her usual plain fare; it was blue, for one thing, and rather thick, though the cut was close enough not to drown her figure. Scrolling silver embroidery climbed the sleeves and sides. "It's warm."

Ovelia quirked a smile. "I thought so. I'm a little jealous, since today's a little chillier than I was expecting."

"So bring a cloak next time."

She chuckled, poking at the tufts of grass growing between floor blocks. "I suppose I will."

Teta shifted, folding her legs and tucking the dress about to keep decent. "But really, was I interrupting you? If I was, you can say so."

"Oh, not at all. I was just praying, and I can do that whenever." _And it's about all I can do, here._ Lips thinned, Ovelia tugged a stalk of grass free from the ground before remembering to still her hands. "Teta?"

"Hmm?"

"What kind of...?" She trailed off, sighing, and tried again. "Is Delita really as... hard... of a man as he seems?" The breeze swirled again, toying with her unbound hair, bringing goosebumps to her arms.

Teta frowned at the ground for a moment before answering. "He's... maybe." Serious brown eyes glanced up to meet Ovelia's gaze. "He's very... driven, you know? He's trying to do something good, to make Ivalice a little more just, a little more stable. He just gets a little carried away sometimes. Tries the most _effective_ solution to a problem, not necessarily the _best_ one, if that makes sense."

"Yeah." Ovelia cleared a frown that had taken hold of her face. "He's sort of... instrumentalist."

"True." Teta frowned off past crumbling stone ruins as the breeze pushed long strands of dark hair around her face. "You know... if you wanted to help him with that, you could just... be there for him, really. Remind him that he's dealing with people, not numbers or chess pieces."

Ovelia lowered her gaze to the ground again, thinking. _Be there for him? That's an ambiguous choice of words._ "What do you mean? Specifically?"

Teta chuckled, a low sound almost lost to the breeze, and tucked drifting hair behind her ear. "My brother isn't crude enough to say anything about it, not outright, but I'm sure he has his eye on you."

"What? On me?" Blinking, Ovelia shot her friend a suspicious glance.

The other woman sighed. "To tell you the truth, I'm not even sure I should be talking about it, but... yes. Whenever he and I are alone together he asks me about you. Asks if you and I have talked, what we talked about, how you're doing. Stuff it doesn't seem like he needs to be concerned about, strictly speaking. He likes you, Ovelia."

"He... oh." Rolling lips between her teeth, Ovelia toyed with a stubborn blade of grass and thought. _Is that true? He's never spoken to me about it. He barely speaks with me at all._ "Teta, that seems... hard to believe." _But what if it's true?_

Her friend snickered. "See for yourself. Here he comes."

Glancing up sharply. Ovelia stared at Teta, then followed her gaze to where Delita was indeed striding in their direction, alone. He looked majestic as always, gold-armored, with a stately red cape whipping around his calves as the long grass made way for him. Dark hair, just a little wavy, lay brushed back from his face, lending him a rugged, almost windblown appearance. Or maybe he really was windblown; he was a man who moved so much, did so much, it seemed odd to find him alone in the middle of a courtyard. Forces of nature didn't wade through grass.

Swallowing past a throat gone suddenly dry, Ovelia ducked her head. Arranged her dress. Fan it out, just a splay of silk and... _there. Perfect._

He arrived in short order, then swept a grand and flourishing bow. "Ladies." His voice was smooth as glass, deep as the sea. "How are my favorite women?"

Teta laughed, rising so she could deliver a playful backhanded slap to his shoulder. She could slap a force. Slap thunder in armor. "Flattery won't make up for being so busy you can never see us."

"Never? You wound me." Holding hands to his plated chest, Delita gave his head a slow shake.

She flashed him a grin. "I didn't think you _could_ be wounded."

"Only by you, sister. No one else is worthy."

Letting her smile fade, Teta folded arms over her chest and arched a dark eyebrow. "So, have you come to sit with us? Or to whisk us away somewhere?"

Delita pursed his lips, glancing around, but nodded. "I can sit. It was clever of you to find a find a place where we can spot eavesdroppers before they're close enough to hear us."

With a roll of her eyes, Teta resumed her seat on on the weathered stones. "That's you, not us, Delita. Ovelia and I don't have any state secrets to discuss."

Dark eyes flickered towards Ovelia. "True. Highness, you seem quiet today. More quiet than usual."

"Oh!" She smiled up at him, then glanced back down to still the hands wringing in her lap. "Oh. Um... yes?" Another smile, this one uncertain.

He laughed, a delighted laugh, the sound of a good man watching children play, and her heart took to racing. "Suit yourself. Silence suits the wise, they say."

_Wise? Is he mocking me, or is that a compliment?_ She giggled, then bit a lip. The wise shouldn't giggle.

"So, what did I interrupt?" Delita folded himself up on the ground, a smooth, liquid movement, easily reversible, like something a cat might do.

Teta snorted. "I asked Ovelia that just moments ago, and she says she was praying."

Again dark eyes, glittering with insight, slid in her direction. "Great. That way God trusts at least one of us."

"Delita!"

"Sorry." He adjusted his bejeweled scabbard, then leaned back on his hands and glanced from face to face. "Anything... new? Exciting? Teta, did you ever find that book from the library?"

"Oh. Actually, yeah. It took Master Alazar the better part of a week to find it, though, and I still haven't gotten to...."

Ovelia swallowed, listening to Teta with only half an ear as she devoted the rest of her attention to studying Delita out of the corners of her eyes. He sat just like a normal man might, leaning back, relaxed, squinting with one eye where the sun happened to be striking his face. That seemed odd, somehow, like he should be... lounging on a throne. A golden throne, carved with... lions? No, roses. Twirling a scepter, maybe, or swirling a goblet of wine so he could savor its heady aroma. Light from a thousand lamps would glitter off all the metal on his person, all the weapons and armor that complemented his natural strength, his forcefulness. There ought to be dancers in front of him as well, talented girls wearing... no, no dancers. Only Ovelia, on the throne next to him, laying a hand on his arm as she related charming some story of what the children had just....

_No! God, what am I doing?_ Swallowing again, she stared at her lap, hoping the burn in her cheeks wasn't visible to the others. His eyes were on her now, though, watching, studying. She could _feel _them on her person, like... hands. Rough, strong hands, propelling her down, onto a mattress of feathers and white dreams, hands that could rip....

_No. God damn it._ Scowling now at her lap, Ovelia bit her lip, hard, trusting the pain to snap her back to the moment. A deep breath served to address but not dispel the tingling in her fluttering heart. Pausing until she could keep her features under some measure of control, she gave her head a toss and glanced back up to catch the end of the conversation.

"...almost a whole _day_ to get it down from there," Teta was saying. "And then most of the next day just to clean up the mess. I still don't even know where it came from."

Delita shook his head. "Amazing."

Teta shook in a silent chuckle, brushing a dead leaf from her dress. "That's what I said."

Smiling, Delita turned his gaze to Ovelia. "What about you? You must have some tale of the things I've missed while cooped up in meetings with officers."

"I'm not th... you...." Taking a deep breath, Ovelia forced herself to meet his gaze, to swim against the current radiating from his heart, the sheer force of his personality. "Delita, what... what are you doing?"

He blinked. "Doing?"

"Yes." Her hands twitched but she stilled them. "What are you up to? Your plans?"

He hesitated, dark eyes flickering towards Teta, who nodded. Then he nodded as well, leaning abruptly forward. "Okay, here's what's happening. The High Priest's plan calls for the Hokuten and Nanten armies to slaughter each other in one big battle. Each side's leaders are to be assassinated at the same time, Larg and Dycedarg, Goltana and Orlandu. Zalbag. Me." He grinned, a flash of white teeth. "Then, the Church will step into the rubble as the only remaining power, to act as a 'mediator' between the two beleaguered armies. The remaining leaders will have no choice but to agree to whatever Funeral proposes... which will, of course, be a plan which puts the Church in charge. So, Funeral wins, everybody else loses."

She frowned, opening her mouth, then paused, uncertain where to start. "Then... what's really going to happen, then?"

He smiled again, a smile just for her. "Same thing. Only I'm not going to die."

"Oh!" She ducked her head, adjusting the hem of her dress. "That's good." Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.

"Ovelia, listen to me," he continued, speaking more quietly now. Two fingers alighted on her knee, and she jumped, but he just kept talking. "I'll still be alive, so we'll be strong. Strong enough to put you on the throne for real, since no one will be left to oppose you, and the Church doesn't have the sheer number of troops it would take to stop us. That's why Funeral needs the treaty he wants, because he can't just take anything by himself. This way that won't happen. You'll be Ivalice's Queen in... I'd say six months. Maybe less."

"That's...." She drew a deep breath, unable to look away; it took everything she had to force out a few words of disagreement. "That's... too much bloodshed."

"Maybe." The smile was gone now, but his eyes remained just as intent. If her objection had upset him, he gave no sign of it. "But at this point we don't have a choice. The forces involved are far too large for one person to stop now, so quickly, so the battle is just going to happen. The best we can hope for is to plan around it, to take it into account and use it, so that there only has to be _one_."

Ovelia offered a slow nod. _That makes sense. He's probably right._ "How can I help?" _I probably can't, again. There's not much I can do, I suppose._

"Help?" He pursed his lips, staring off at something in the distance. "Help. Well, tell you what. Do you know Cidolfas Orlandu?"

"Orlandu? I met him when I was a little girl, I think."

He nodded. "Good. When we're at Bethla -- that's where the battle is going to be -- you can find him in his cell. He'll be imprisoned at the time. Find him and convince him that he needs to escape and disappear. If the Church types find him, they'll kill him. I have another plan that will throw them off his trail, but he still needs to be gone. Can you do that?"

"Yes." She threw him what she hoped would be a confident smile. "I can do that."

* * *

After a quick and efficient scuffle with port guards at the Murond docks, the ship voyage to Dorter proved disappointingly mundane. Ramza spent most of it dangling his legs over the edge, squinting off over the sun-kissed waves, ignoring entreaties to conversation from Jasmine, Lavian and Agrias. Alicia spent a few hours sitting silently with him and delivering the occasional punch to his shoulder or ribs, while the men had the grace to leave him alone.

In the first hours after boarding, he'd expressed his desire to take a leisurely pace, which had surprised the others at first. But with Barinten on pilgrimage in Murond, there was simply no telling when he'd be back in Riovanes; beating him there only to wait for him to show up afterwards wasn't a situation that appealed to anyone. Ironically, the ship to Dorter, the only one available when they'd left, would doubtless prove faster than one bound for Gariland.

Two days. Two days of solitude with his thoughts. Two days of Agrias bitching at him to get out of the sun or risk sunburn, and two days of his snappish retorts.

When he finally stepped onto the pier in Dorter, it was early evening. Clear sky, stars in the violet east and a fiery orange in the west. A handful of bare-chested crewmen hurried around, tying ropes from the ship to the pier, and he strode through them without so much as a glance. The rest of his companions fell in beside or behind him, all silent but for Lavian as she tried to pry conversation out of a stoic Knox.

Halfway to the inn, his right knee buckled. He staggered but caught himself with a grimace.

Agrias caught him too, with a shoulder into his chest and an arm around his back. "You okay?" she murmured, peering sideways up at him, her pale face just inches from his own. A lock of golden hair lay almost obscuring one eye, having fallen there during her lunge to catch him. She had freckles, apparently. The others, behind them, had shuffled to a halt in the street.

He pushed her away, then gave his shoulders an irritated roll. "I'm fine."

Blue eyes narrowed in clear suspicion but she nodded. "You keep saying that," she noted, starting down the street again, "but that's the second time I've seen you stumble since we left Murond."

"The first time was on the ship," he pointed out in a mutter. She was right, though. After his experience in the darkness under the temple, his joints just... didn't always work right. The healing had largely fixed things, and there was no pain, but every now and then, if he wasn't paying attention, one would give out. The fight to escape the city had gone perfectly, though; the weakness only struck at mundane moments. Climbing stairs, walking down a street.

She sighed. "Ramza... who do you think you're--"

"Just drop it."

"Fine. Whatever." She sighed again, a tight, irritated sound, and her posture stiffened; she was stalking, now, rather than walking.

He shook his head as they angled onto a wide cross street under a purpling sky. They still didn't know what had happened, and he intended to keep it that way. Not out of shame so much as a desire to spare them pain; if they knew, he'd have to reject their sympathy, and that would hurt them. This way everyone was happier.

No one spoke further on the way to the inn. On arriving there, he stowed his gear in an empty room before Agrias even finished paying for them, then claimed a seat at an unused table in one corner of the half-full common room. A buzz of low conversation filled the place, punctuated by spoons clicking against soup bowls or the occasional bout of laughter. Ramza stared at the tabletop and waited.

The others filed in shortly enough, crowding together to fit around the table, which was probably intended to seat five or six at most. Vector squeezed in on his left, while Alicia dragged a chair over to his right. Lavian ordered a round of ale and everyone, even Agrias, drank, except for Ramza who let his mug go untouched until Jasmine leaned over the table to swipe it.

"You know," began Lavian, thumbing her chin, "I sort of like this whole 'not hurrying' thing. Gives us more time to enjoy the scenery." Beside her, Knox lifted his eyebrows but said nothing, instead just sipping from his mug.

"The scenery?" Jasmine's smile was both crooked and sharp. "You mean common rooms? Or just Knox, there?"

Lavian gave her head a toss and fixed the other woman with a level blue-eyed stare. "I take enjoyment wherever I happen to find it."

Jasmine's smile widened. "I'm sure."

"You know what would be better than hearing you two bitch?" Alicia leaned back in her creaky chair, mug in one fist, bumping shoulders with Ramza. "We should find somewhere to dance."

"What?" Vector's head jerked up to stare at the redhead, wide-eyed. "_You_ dance?"

Alicia bared her teeth at him. "I'm human too, you scrawny jerk. But to answer your question, no. I meant the rest of you could dance, while Iceman and I sit in the corner and watch how stupid you all look. Everybody wins."

Agrias snorted into her mug. "You're a fine one to call someone else scrawny."

"Stuff it, Agrias. Not everyone can look like a statue."

The Holy Knight shook her head. "I guess if people want to dance, I'll go too."

Lavian and Knox exchanged glances, then both nodded. "We'll come," answered Knox.

Vector cleared his throat and grinned. "I wouldn't say no to a night on the town. I can get new... supplies."

Agrias rolled her eyes. "I don't even want to know." Pausing, she shot Ramza a sideways glance. "Are you coming?"

He poked at the worn tabletop without meeting her gaze, and finally shrugged. "No. I'll just go to bed."

"That's because you're a jerk too," declared Alicia, pushing herself from the table. "We'll see you tomorrow morning, or in hell. Whichever comes first."

"Right." As the others rose and made their way to the common room door, in search of an establishment with music, Ramza edged along the edge of the room towards the stairs, then ascended on heavy legs. Once into the silent darkness of the bedroom he flopped onto his bed, threw an arm over his eyes, and waited.

The next day found everyone else alert as ever; it seemed they hadn't stayed out too late. Ramza quickly put the previous night out of his mind and concentrated on traveling, on avoiding the gazes of the gate guards, on keeping his eyes peeled for potential enemies hidden behind trees or hilltops. Any brigands or bounty hunters thinking they could surprise a weary man would find themselves mistaken.

Around midday, grassy rolling hills gave way to sandy rolling hills. Stunted bushes grew from the barren soil, but little else did, and from time to time they climbed through shallow cracks in the ground, perhaps dried-up riverbeds. Zeklaus Desert was an empty place, a place devoid of all but the most trivial life and activity. It suited him.

Hours later their path carried them past the old rat cellar where he'd once fought the Death Corps. Amber afternoon sunlight glowed blindingly on its pale surface, crumbling stone scraped bone-clean by the elements and the years. Agrias slowed as they approached, then pulled down the scarf covering her nose and mouth against the blowing sand. "We may as well camp here, right?"

Ramza shuffled to a halt a few paces past her, then turned around, frowning. "Why?"

Clear blue eyes flickered his way. "It'll be dark in a few hours, and I'm tired of camping at that little ridge we usually stop at, farther north. We're not in a rush, remember?"

He stared at her for a moment, then at the roofless shelter. "Yeah, I suppose." Tugging his dustcloak tighter around his shoulders, he ducked against the stinging wind and angled towards the structure's open doorway. The others followed.

After settling into the sparse space inside, he found a corner and sat in it, letting his eyes drift shut and his head loll back against the stone wall. Sunlight through the doorway painted warm blurs on his closed eyelids as he huddled closer into himself, hugging knees to his chest. The others left him alone, chatting and laughing as they waited out the daylight hours.

Much later, after a dinner of dried rations and hard bread, he sat with Agrias and Alicia atop the crumbling walls of the nest. Bars of clear moonlight left lumpy shadows of their forms on the sand below, etched the rest of the world into silver and black. The wind had died down at nightfall, leaving the desert cold and motionless as the grave.

"You know," muttered Alicia beside him, "we could actually stay here a day or two."

He cut his eyes towards her without turning his head, then returned his attention to the empty terrain. "Why?"

"Bandits stay here a lot, right?" she reasoned. "At least, we're always fighting them around here when we travel through. So I thought it would be fun to hang around for a bit and butcher any groups of highwaymen that might try to camp here. We'd probably clean up this trade route, at least for a few days."

"That's not a bad idea," murmured Agrias. "I think we should have enough food and water to last a few days. If you don't mind, Ramza."

He shrugged, folding his legs under him. A few chips of weathered stone fluttered silently groundward with the motion. "Sure. After that, I think I want to go to Lesalia."

"What?" Agrias half-turned to face him, a collection of cool moonlight and feminine shadows. "Why?"

He shrugged again. "Kill my brothers."

"Uh...." She hesitated, studying him sharply. "Why not just... talk to them, instead? See if they really are your enemies before you attack them?"

Ramza frowned, then waved a dismissive hand. "Alright, fine."

"Don't be a dumbass," sighed Alicia, resting her chin on her knees. "You can't attack your own family."

"Why not?"

"Well, you...." She trailed off, then grunted. "Well, first of all, there's still a bounty on your head. If you show up at Lesalia Castle asking to speak to your brothers, the guards there'll just take you and hand you over to the Church."

He made a face. "I doubt it."

"How the hell can you know? You don't--"

"Look," he interrupted. "Larg and my brothers run the place. If they haven't been trying to kill me, they'll at least let me talk to them. There's no way a group of soldiers would try to claim the bounty without getting permission from Zalbag, at least."

Silence answered him. Somewhere in the distant night, a hunting bird's lonely howl echoed.

Eventually Alicia sighed again. "I suppose you're right," she whispered.

Nobody said anything further. When his skin started pebbling in the chill night, he climbed down and sought his blankets.

Two days -- and three fights with brigand bands -- later, they left the rat cellar behind and continued northward. Goland proved uneventful, apart from being a place to buy more food, and after less than an hour in the city they were already out of it, on the road again.

Lesalia, he found, was everything he'd heard about it. Grand, opulent, prosperous. A little pretentious. Armed to the teeth, too, with Hokuten soldiers filling the cobblestone streets to bursting.

Agrias insisted she stay out of sight, at an inn, so he left the girls and Vector with her, taking only Knox to the castle proper. The towering knight said nothing as they strolled through the streets under lumpy grey clouds threatening rain, and Ramza guarded his tongue as well. True to his prediction, the guards at the gate gaped at the sight of him, but made no move to apprehend him.

In less than ten minutes he was ushered alone to Zalbag's study. A stately but cozy space, it stood just big enough to contain a desk, a few shelves full of old books, and a handful of banners Zalbag had claimed from fallen enemies during the Fifty Year War.

"Ramza," he greeted without looking up from the journal he was writing in. "I'm surprised to see you here. What is it?"

Ramza clenched his teeth, glancing around the room. _Nice place. So this is how they reward you for letting your sister die?_ "Where's Dycedarg?"

"Busy." A lion-carved brass pen whispered across rich paper, leaving a trail of glistening calligraphy. "Why?"

Ramza took a step closer to the table, into the ring of warm light issuing from the lamp on his brother's desk. "You let Alma die."

Zalbag's pen paused. Then he glanced up, golden eyebrows drawn together into a high-minded scowl. "What? What are you talking about?"

"You heard me. I said you let her die."

The other man sighed. "That was almost two years ago, and--"

"A year and a half."

"--and you still haven't gotten over it? She _fell_, Ramza." Zalbag's dark eyes bored angrily into him. "She fell. It was an accident."

"Because you had Algus shoot at somebody standing right next to her," added Ramza with a slow nod. "And then when she fell, you didn't even check on her."

Zalbag shook his head, pausing to set his pen aside before answering. "The Death Corps were closing on us there. I'm sure you know that. They weren't just some band of rabble I could leave to Algus, so I don't think you appreciate how busy I--"

"She was your sister."

"Half-sister. And it's not like I--"

"You didn't even come back afterwards. You just left."

"I was _busy._" A definite note of chill entered Zalbag's voice, and he leaned forward, planting hands on the mahogany desktop.

Ramza met his brother's hard stare for long moments, then gave his lips a distasteful twist. "Okay. You didn't care."

Zalbag's pointed chin-beard quivered as he fought visibly to control his temper. "How dare you accuse me of that?"

Ramza spread his hands. "Because it's true. You didn't care. You're no brother at all."

A fist slammed against wood, rattling and nearly toppling a vial of ink; the flame in the desk-lamp danced at the disturbance. "Get out! Get out of here, you half-blood brat! What the hell do you think you know?"

Without a word Ramza turned and made for the door, leaving his fuming brother behind. Strangely, he didn't feel particularly angry. Frustrated, yes, and a little strange at having to hate one of his own kind, but not angry. _I was right._ Zalbag could safely be added to the list in his head, the list of people on the wrong side of the moral line. People who could be fought or killed should the need arise. _There's nothing in his armor but pomp and pride. I was right._

* * *

For a long time after Ramza left, Zalbag stared at the open doorway. Then, sighing, he slumped back into his chair and rubbed a shaking hand down his face. Alma had been a dear girl, and he'd wanted to remember her alive. Not as a half-frozen corpse. _Ramza wasn't smart enough to walk away too, and look what it got him. He's dead inside. Not like Alma wanted that for him._ Staying away, staying whole... it had been the right choice. People could grieve in different ways, couldn't they?

Expelling another tight sigh, he let his hand drop and stared at the open journal on his desk, but his eyes just roamed without seeing. _Stupid Ramza. Thinks he's so... thinks he's wise enough to judge. What a dumbass._

Scowling again, he swiped his pen from the table and resumed writing. The pen bit deeper into the paper than before, even going so far as to tear the paper.

* * *

"Welcome back to Riovanes, sir! I hope your pilgrimage was--"

"Yes, yes, it was lovely." Barinten strode past Norton, his white-haired manservant, without so much as a glance. Once into his chambers he paused, eyes darting around, noting every detail. In the bedchamber, a bed as wide as it was long, with posts supporting a downward-facing mirror above. Sheer white curtains over the windows, allowing a diffuse glow to illuminate the room from the cloudy sky outside. In the antechamber, a set of four carved and gilded armchairs, each more ornamental than the last, for guests. In the study, his desk with all the drawers closed, locked, with the keys still weighing down his belt pouch. Everything was in place, it seemed. Nothing had been touched.

"Is there anything I can do for you, sir?"

He smiled, turning to Norton. "No, thank you. Actually... yes: send Rafa to me."

"Right away, sir." The older man bowed his way out of the suite, and the door clicked shut behind him.

Spinning on his heel, Barinten hurried to his study and unlocked the sliding cover over the surface of his desk. Then, claiming a seat on the cushioned armchair, he found stationery and set about penning a very brief letter.

_Vormav,_

_I offer you formal invitation to dine with me at Riovanes. I am in possession of something you will no doubt find quite interesting, perhaps even shocking. I await your visit here at your earliest convenience._

_Cordially,  
Gelkanis Barinten_  
_Grand Duke of Riovanes_

Smiling to himself, he folded the thing into a careful square of creamy paper and dripped a circle of blue wax over the edge. As he rummaged through his drawers, looking for his official seal, the outer door opened and closed, making barely a whisper each time.

"Ah, Rafa," he called without looking up. "Come in here." _There it is._ Smiling, he pulled a heavy gold ring from the lowest drawer, then impressed its device upon the still-hot wax. Afterwards a stylized wolf stared back up at him, teeth bared and growling.

There was no sound, only the faintest impression of shifting air, of a change in the ambient castle noise. "What do you want?" came a low female voice.

Setting letter and seal both carefully aside, he turned to face his visitor. Honey-brown skin, with a woman's shapely curves wrapped carefully in white linen unbroken save by a waist-sash of vibrant turquoise. Eyes the color of oak, with hair to match, gazed at him without blinking from under a crimson headband enclosing hair and hood alike.

When she only stared back at him, he summoned a smile. "Malak should be arriving shortly in Lesalia, if he's not already there. Meet him there and help him kill Ramza Beoulve."

Not a flicker of emotion crossed Rafa's face. "The heretic?"

Barinten let his smile fade. "Yes, the heretic." This coldness of hers, this sullenness, was a new thing. She'd smiled often as a child, even as a young woman, all the way up until... about five weeks ago. But it had been a fair trade; her smile was nice, but the rest of her was so much nicer.

She nodded once, dark hair swaying forward from within the hood. "Is that all?"

"That's all."

Without a word she spun on her heel and stalked towards the door. She couldn't help but stalk; she just had that kind of natural grace. Barinten watched her hips until they'd disappeared, then retrieved the sealed letter from his desk and allowed himself a chuckle.

* * *

It was raining when she left the castle. Rain. She'd never cared for it, particularly, preferring the sun and dusty heat, but now she found it refreshing. A welcome change, a bath of water to quench the red-hot blade of her tension. Tension she wouldn't have to carry much longer.

Drawing rein just before the city's outer gates, she turned in her saddle and peered through a hazy curtain of rainfall towards Riovanes Castle. From here it was a mere blocky shadow, fuzzed and haloed by the intervening precipitation, but she peeled lips back from her teeth to stare at it anyway. _I'm never coming back here. Never. Unless it's to kill you._

After a moment Rafa tugged the hood of her cloak lower over her face, then heeled her chocobo back into motion. Grumbling thunder rode at her heels, chasing her out of Riovanes.

* * *

Agrias planted her boot against the skull of a kneeling bandit, then yanked her blade free from it. The man dropped limply to the ground, but she was already spinning around, pausing to survey the rest of the battle.

Only it seemed to be over. Mostly. Ramza, as usual, was sprawled face-down on the ground, covered in his own blood and surrounded by enemy corpses. Another brigand nearby was merely empty smoking clothes, courtesy of Jasmine's Holy, and most of the others had already fallen, save for one limping archer desperately fending off attacks from both Knox and Alicia.

Exhaling in relief, Agrias turned and hurried through a steady drizzle to where Ramza lay motionless among tall leafy grass and yellow wildflowers. A gurgling cry somewhere behind her announced the last man dying as she dropped to her knees next to her friend. Closing her eyes, she set her sword aside, rested open palms on his back, and willed his tired heart to beat again.

Ramza stiffened, then curled into a coughing ball. Blood-spattered hands fumbled briefly for purchase on the ground before closing around long stalks of grass, and then he held them tightly, shiveringly, as he drew several long, steadying breaths. Only then did he lift his face from the blood to squint up at Agrias.

She thinned her lips and held a hand down to him. "Morning."

He stared at her for long moments before sighing, glancing down at the state of his torn and mud-soaked clothes. Wet golden bangs flopped over his face, nearly concealing his eyes. "Hey."

"You gonna get up?"

"Yeah." Swallowing, he threw a hand into hers.

As Agrias helped him to his feet, she frowned. Something seemed... different. "Ramza, you've lost weight."

"Oh?" Once standing, he rubbed a shaking hand over his face, replacing some of the mud with blood, and stared around the terraced Grog Hill at their companions looting the dead.

"Like, a lot of weight." Chewing a lip, she studied him sideways. The changes must have been gradual, to accumulate without her noticing them, but now the obvious jumped out at her. The plain earth-toned breeches he often wore had always seemed a little loose on him, but now they looked downright baggy, and likely would have sagged had his belt not been pulled so tight. His shirt, of plain blue cloth, lay slicked to his chest, looking more like a sodden banner wrapped around wooden poles than a garment on somebody's torso. Even his face looked different, a little more angular, more lean. On the whole, he'd passed through slim but hadn't quite reached gaunt. Skinny, then. "Seriously, are you okay? Are you sick or something?" Shuffling forward, she reached a hand towards his forehead.

He grimaced, batting her arm away. "Oh, for.... Agrias, I'm fine. I'm not sick."

"Fine," she sighed, letting her hand drop. _Even if he was, he wouldn't admit it anyway._ "I won't bring it up again unless it gets in our way, but... could you maybe... make an effort to eat a little more?" As he scowled at her, prepared to argue, she held up a hand and spoke before he could. _Have to explain it in his terms._ "I know you don't care, but do it for everyone else's sake. At the least, if you look healthier, you won't have to deal with people always asking how well you are."

His scowl faded to a wary frown, but after a moment he nodded. "Yeah, I suppose."

"Okay, thank you." She shook her head, then gestured at one of the three crystals rotating in the grass around the pair of them. "Grab one. You look like hell."

As he squatted to do so, Agrias suppressed a sigh. _He's been off since Murond. What the hell happened there? They must have mistreated him, as we'd feared. Not like he'd answer if I asked, though._

Once his injuries were erased, he stood up and greeted with a nod the approaching Jasmine. "How's everyone else?"

"Totally fine. You want to keep moving or camp here?"

He paused, glancing at others more distant, at Alicia and Vector slapping mud from their clothes. "We move. Riovanes is... how far, again?"

"Three days, on foot." Agrias brushed wet hair from her face. "Yardow's the only sizable city between here and there."

"Right." His bronze eyes slid north and west, past the rough peak of the hill, following the road to Yardow. "Let's go. Not like Barinten's going to question and murder himself, is it?"

* * *

Rafa stepped out from behind her rock and watched as the odd party hurried off along the road, most huddling against the chill drizzle. His face was different than she'd been expecting, more blank and stony than the grinning mask of evil on all the bounty posters, but she'd had no trouble recognizing Ramza Beoulve. _That's him? The guy everyone wants to kill? He looks like... a dying beggar. But fights like a madman._

Rain pattered into mud, clicked against worn stone, as she stared after the group. Seven people. More than she'd been expecting. Even if she'd been planning to obey the Grand Duke, she wouldn't have had a chance in open combat, not outnumbered so badly. _And why are they going that way? Towards Yardow? They were supposed to be staying in Lesalia._

Rubbing thumbs against forefingers, she turned and gazed in thoughtful curiosity back east, towards Lesalia. Malak was in that direction. Moving, coming closer; she could feel him. Was he following this Ramza? _He must be._

Without further hesitation she turned and strolled back to where she'd tied Hien to a maple sapling a half-hour past. The bird stood huddled under the sparse leaves, pecking idly at the ground in hopes of finding food. At her approach he glanced up, blinking wide eyes, and she ruffled his golden neck feathers as she untied and mounted him.

The road carried her swiftly eastward. Rain pelted her face, slid down her neck.

She found Malak mere hours later, at a bend in the road next to a grove of wild apple trees. He looked intent as ever, dark brows drawn together in scowling concentration as he snapped Ortia's reins for more speed. The others had apparently found him as well, the ninjas and summoners, for they rode fanned out behind him, all bent over the necks of their feathered mounts.

Rafa drew to a halt a hundred paces away. Malak slowed to a walk, then met her face-to-face from two paces away.

"Grand Duke sent you?" he guessed, brushing rainwater from his face.

She nodded.

"To kill Ramza Beoulve?"

Another nod.

"Did you pass him heading the other direction?"

"I did."

"Good. Let's go." Snapping his reins, he dug heels into Ortia's flanks and bolted into motion.

Rafa turned around and sped to catch up, while the others fell in a few bird lengths behind, along the road. "Is he the guy you captured in Murond?"

"Yes."

Her lips tightened. "So why is he here? Did you lose him?"

Malak expelled an angry sigh. "No, the Church did. They were torturing him, but he escaped."

"Escaped?" Surprise widened her eyes, but she kept them trained straight ahead, on the mud-slicked road winding between rocks and trees. "He escaped from under the temple?"

Her brother grunted. "Not exactly. Wiegraf released him so they could fight, only Ramza killed him and forced a priest to help him out."

"He fought... wait, Wiegraf? Wiegraf Folles?" Her fists tightened on Hien's reins. "After being under the question? And _won?_"

"Wiegraf screwed up," dismissed Malak, "but yes."

"Then how were you able to capture him in the first place?"

Malak didn't answer. Seven pairs of chocobo claws squelched onward in the mud.

Rafa found herself thinking. Considering her options. A man who'd fought and killed one of the most dangerous men in Ivalice after what must have been days of torture, who'd broken out of confinement and headed to Lesalia only to... _Wait._ "Malak, why's he going to Yardow?"

"Dunno. Grand Duke didn't tell me anything."

She frowned. After leaving Murond, the first thing the Beoulve had done was head to Lesalia, only he'd taken his time, traveling for some three weeks or more before he'd reached it. _What's in Lesalia? The Queen? No, she'd have had him killed. Larg is... no. Dycedarg. His brothers._ To Lesalia, to speak with one or both of his brothers, and then to Yardow? _Or Riovanes? Does he want something with Barinten? It's not an official visit, or one of the other brothers would have come instead, so what could he...?_

She blinked, then swallowed. Barinten had been in Murond when Ramza had. Had in fact arranged his capture. Did he know? _He must. He's going there to settle a score._

Her eyes slid sideways, to where her brother rode in preoccupied silence. Short dark hair lay slicked against his forehead, but he didn't appear to notice.

Rafa cut her eyes back to the road ahead, let her heart thump a few more times before speaking. "Hey."

"Hmm."

"We don't have to do it, you know."

"Don't be a moron."

"Think a--" Cutting herself off, she gazed sideways but managed not to turn around to glance at the soldiers. Angling her chocobo closer to Malak's, she spoke in a lower voice. "Think about it. Our village burned mere days after he addressed the elders. After they refused him. Then he found us among the refugees, and--"

"You shut up!" hissed Malak, twisting to glare at her. "He didn't have to raise us, but he did! Took us in, fed us, taught us things!"

"Taught us to _kill_," she corrected in a mutter, tugging her raincloak closer about her chest. "Don't most children adopted by nobles get an education? They learn about things, about philosophy and statecraft and history. All we learned was how to use our abilities as weapons."

"And that's not good enough for you?" he growled, dark eyes glaring daggers at her. "You want to turn on the only man who's ever shown us kindness?"

"Kindness?" The word twisted her lips, left the taste of ashes in her mouth. Letting her eyes drift shut, she took a slow breath, resolving herself to speak of a matter that had resulted only in a shouting match when she'd brought up once before. "I told you what happened. What he did." The pain was gone now, the discomfort, but not the shame. Not the fear, the shivering hatred.

Malak shifted in his saddle. "You... I told you there's no way he... just shut up, okay? Just shut up about it. I need to think."

Rafa shook her head. He didn't want to believe it.

Their ride elapsed in silence after that. Mounted, they approached and even overtook Ramza Beoulve and his friends along the road. The others kept hiking, faces down against the rain, barely acknowledging Rafa and her companions as they passed. She watched them, though, even twisted around in her saddle to stare back at them until rain and distance hid them. An idea had drifted to the forefront of her thoughts. A plan.

It was several hours before nightfall when they reached the gate of Yardow. Malak issued curt orders to the soldiers just inside the wall, arranging for their chocobos to be whisked away, for men on the towers to watch out for Ramza and his gang. Then he stood cross-armed just inside the gate, stewing.

Rafa waited with him as rain fell from a featureless grey sky. She spoke only once as they waited for the heretic's arrival. "Malak."

"Mmm."

"It doesn't have to be like this."

He didn't answer. She slumped, staring at the interlocking stones beneath her feet.

When the lookouts sighted the Beoulve, Malak snapped more orders, arranging the ninjas, setting the summoners up to flank him. Rafa waited at his side, staring through the open gate at the path just outside. Her musk rod, propped into the ground against one of her boots, was smooth against her palms and fingers.

"Here he comes!" whispered one of the ninjas on the wall, pointing to a spot some ten paces outside. "Heretic Ramza Beoulve!"

Rafa hefted her staff and broke into a sprint, bolting through the open gate and onto the broad expanse just outside. The party she'd seen just hours before stood outside, sodden and muddy, weapons appearing in fists, but she addressed them before they could speak. "Ramza, help! This is a trap!"

"God damn it! Rafa!" Malak's voice rang out from behind her.

* * *

Ramza skidded to a halt on the worn paving stones, eyes darting to measure the situation. A woman in white running towards him, asking for help. A ninja on the wall, probably more inside. A man who'd just called after the woman -- Rafa? -- with a voice he'd heard somewhere before. No one else on the wall, or among the trimmed grass before it, apart from his friends.

His eyes snapped back to the woman. Dark hair and eyes, honey skin. She needed help.

Nodding, he darted to position himself between the wall and her, and spoke without tearing his eyes from the battle unfolding just within the city's gate. "How many are in there?"

"Six." Her voice was low and musical. "Ninjas, summoners and a--"

"Knox!" The big man paused in the act of hurrying up into Yardow proper, then turned as Ramza jerked a thumb at the woman behind him. "Guard her."

Knox nodded again, then bolted towards the two of them. Ramza sped past him, into the city.

Inside the gate lay a broad avenue separating the wall from the nearest houses, and a dozen or so combatants filled the empty space. Vector, he saw, was already down, though he'd taken a summoner with him, and Alicia was doing her best to fend off attacks from two ninjas at once. As he watched, Agrias fired off a Holy Explosion through one of the men. Lavian and the last ninja were circling, trying to get behind each other, and Jasmine remained outside yet.

That left a summoner and an oddly-dressed fellow Ramza took to be this group's leader. _Damn it. That summoner'll shred us._ Grimacing, he angled towards the woman standing alone. She managed to complete a spell during his approach, and he gritted his teeth as a blizzard of diamond-sharp ice flakes tore through him, but then he was behind her unprotected back. One punch stopped her heart in her ribs, and before she could scream he reached around to snap her neck.

Letting the body drop to the ground, he turned and raced for the leader, but not before the man invoked some bizarre skill at him. Ramza dodged bursts of flame erupting without apparent cause from midair, though one managed to strike him, burning what Shiva had already frozen. He countered with an Earth Slash, leaving the wizard bruised and bloody but standing.

As he closed for hand-to-hand, the man laughed harshly. He boasted the same exotic coloring as the woman outside, though with shorter dark hair and an intent scowl despite his laughter. "Ready to take a second drubbing?" he asked as his staff blurred into motion.

Ramza blocked the first strike, then launched a flying kick at the other man's head, which he dodged. "You... your voice." An open-handed strike connected with only the spinning staff. "You're the one who surprised me in Murond."

"You dropped like a bag of bricks." The wizard shook his head. "I'm Malak."

Ducking under a spinning strike at his head, Ramza launched another offensive, only to see the other man skid back. _Damn it. His reach is too long with that staff._ The man fought holding only one end of the weapon, holding it almost like a spear, and it was light enough to blur with every strike.

The thing hummed at his midsection once more and Ramza blocked it with an upraised forearm; wood cracked against flesh and pain flared through his arm. A Wave Fist rippled into the wizard's chest, driving him back another pace. In the momentary respite Ramza clutched at his injured arm, but he could still clench a fist with it. Nothing was broken.

"Think you can help her?" murmured the wizard as he danced forward with another offensive. "You can't. She's bound to us."

Ramza ignored the attempt at taunting, instead focusing his attention on the other man's weapon. _I have to get past that thing. But it's too light, and he's too fast._ Another swipe at his head, which he barely avoided. _But this is just like fighting anyone else, isn't it?_

When the next strike angled in at his head, he caught the staff in one open hand, then twisted. His other hand snapped forward, striking the weapon itself. Wood flexed, then cracked apart, sending chips sailing a few paces away.

Ramza let his momentum carry him through the rest of a circle, reversing his grip on the staff segment as he twisted. A backhanded stab sent the weapon's jagged end into the other man's chest.

The wizard grunted and staggered back, blinking at the arm-length of wood protruding from his ribcage, but Ramza didn't allow a moment of mercy. A kick drove the thing in even further, and one more open strike to the flat end drove it piercing out the man's back, through armor and cloak alike.

A few more steps backwards, arms windmilling to keep his balance, and Malak finally looked up from the instrument of his death. His mouth opened and moved, but no sound came from it. After a moment he collapsed to his knees, then toppled to the ground. Falling rain pushed around the pool of blood spreading from his chest.

Ramza ignored the man, glancing up at the rest of the fight. The ninjas had hacked Alicia down, but one had been charred to death and the other was just now falling with Lavian's blade in his middle. Everyone else was already tending to their wounds and looting the dead.

Shaking his head, Ramza squatted and patted down the body of the dead man at his feet. A few coins, a bracelet of gems, all stuff they could use, and... _wait, what's this?_ Digging under the man's coat, he produced something hard, shiny and red. _Oh._ "Scorpio?"

After a moment he sighed, tucking it into one of his own pockets. It made belated sense, really; if this Malak had captured him, he'd have taken the stones, so Wiegraf would have been wondering where they were. Further searching did not reveal Taurus on Malak's person, however. _Damn it._

A sudden sob jerked his head up. Knox and Rafa had made their way into the city, and now the woman's face had crumpled in agony, one fist pressed against her open mouth. Staggering towards the body, she dropped to her knees and reached one hand out to touch the dead man's shoulder. "Ma... Malak? How could... no...."

Beside her, Ramza stood upright, staring down at the process of her grief. Blood dripped from his fists to the ground, but the woman didn't notice, curled as she was over Malak's body. Shortly Knox wandered over as well, his usually-stoic face a mask of misery, and Jasmine helped a limping Alicia their way.

Somewhere in the city's rainy distance, a man shouted. Another, in a different direction. Ramza faced his gathering companions. "Change of plans. We have to keep moving."

Agrias nodded at the weeping Rafa. "What about her?"

"She comes with us."

The Holy Knight opened her mouth to argue, but he only looked at her, and she nodded. "Fine." Beside her, a pale and bleeding Vector nodded as well.

Squatting once more, Ramza touched Rafa's shoulder. "We need to go."

"We... I can't...." Choking, sniffling, she scrubbed the back of one hand across her face and shook her head. There was blood on her hands, blood on the snowy fabric of her clothes.

Ramza's face tightened. "I'm sorry, but there's no time." Reaching out, he wrapped arms around the woman's waist and heaved her to his shoulder. Then he staggered; he probably wasn't strong enough to be doing this, but he was already moving, heading for the gate with unsteady steps. Wood rattling across stone behind him announced someone picking up Rafa's staff, and then they were out of the city, making a beeline for the wooded hills a half-mile away, as twilight fell along with the rain.

It was over an hour later before they stopped. He'd long since handed Rafa over to Knox, but exhaustion dragged at his muscles nevertheless. Dropping himself to a rock on the edge of their makeshift campsite, he focused chakra after chakra until blood stopped leaking from his body. Then he simply sat there, drained, and stared at the others.

They'd claimed a clearing some fifteen paces across and strewn with pine needles. Towering evergreens rose in every direction, bundles of boughs and shadows in the failing cloudy daylight. Along one edge of the clearing lay a fallen log, mossy and half-rotten, on which Jasmine, Alicia and Vector were seated. Knox and Lavian stood a short distance away, talking quietly, faces serious, while elsewhere Agrias rooted through their jumbled belongings for food. Rafa sat huddled in herself, alone, staring at nothing. Her face was still more wet than the rain alone could account for.

Sighing, Ramza dragged himself to his feet and shuffled over to her. "Malak. Who was he?"

She blinked up at him several times before his presence seemed to register, and then she hugged her knees even more tightly. "My brother."

"Your... your brother." Ramza swallowed, staring down at his open hands. They'd started to shake. He lifted one to rub his face, and then his knees gave out, depositing him on the ground beside her. Rainwater dripped from his hair, running down his face, blurring his vision.

She didn't answer, only stared into space. Across the clearing, Agrias gave the two of them a strange glance, then scooted a little farther away, perhaps hoping to provide more privacy.

Ramza stared at the mud under his folded legs. "Who are you?" he whispered. "We know only your name."

Cloth shifted beside him. "Rafa Galthana." She paused, then sighed. "My brother and I were war orphans. Our village... burned, but Barinten found and raised us. Taught us things."

"Assassins," muttered Ramza. "I've heard of you."

"Assassins. Only I found some old records saying... records about his soldiers, what they'd done during the war. He ordered it. He had the village burned so he could get his hands on us."

Ramza slicked wet hair back from his face. "Why?"

Rafa sighed again. "We... have skills. Like magic, but not. Unique, I think. So... I tried to bring that up with Malak, along with... other recent things, but he didn't want to listen. I wanted to leave, to run off with him and do something else, but he wanted to stay with the Grand Duke."

He nodded, plucking a leafy weed from the muddy soil. "What are you going to do now?"

She remained silent for long moments as the clearing succumbed to evening darkness. With the world thoroughly soaked, and with possible pursuit behind them in any case, nobody bothered with a fire. Instead, Vector and Jasmine produced squares of oiled cloth and spread them along the ground so that at least a few people could sleep without getting muddy.

Eventually the assassin turned her head his way. "What about you? What are your plans?"

He shrugged. "We're on our way to Riovanes. I need to talk to Barinten."

"About what?"

"About these." As he spoke, he fished under his vest and shortly produced Scorpio and Aries.

Rafa frowned. "What are they?"

"Zodiac stones. Scorpio and Aries." When she only blinked back up at him, he stuffed the things back into his pocket. "I had two on me before Malak captured me in Murond. Then I just now got this one from him, and another one from Wiegraf earlier, so Barinten probably has the third one. Or at least he has to know something I can use."

Dark eyes scanned his face. "You're going there to question him? Or to kill him?"

Ramza met her gaze without pretense. "Question, yes. Kill... maybe. Depends on how he answers my questions."

She nodded. "Then I'd like to come with you."

He hesitated, studying her, but could read nothing of her intentions from her face. Her manner was bland, nonchalant, as though she'd just decided to order soup for lunch, not to interrogate and potentially kill her foster father. _Does she really get it?_ "Rafa... it's not just Barinten. We're after everyone who might know anything about the stones, who might be using them to stir up and manipulate the war. This isn't a single mission; it's a job."

White-clad shoulders shrugged. "That's fine."

"And we're likely to be going up against the Church again. I think they know the most of what's going on. You'd be a heretic too."

"I don't care."

His eyebrows climbed despite himself, and he found himself glancing across the campsite, to where Knox and Lavian were sitting together, too close. Chatting. _Finally. Someone who gets it._ "Okay. You can come with us."

* * *

Her dreams were shadows and fire. She awoke sweating, shivering, soaked by rain.

Rafa lay in her blankets for some time before finally rising in the cloudy pre-dawn twilight. Some of the others were up as well, the pretty Jasmine, the towering brute called Knox. None were speaking, and their faces were grim as they went about their morning routines. Perhaps her mood had affected the others, or perhaps Ramza's had, but their stiff postures and downcast faces bespoke an unwillingness to break the silence. She understood this to be unusual; none of them carried a loner's cold aura, not like Ramza did. He was different from them.

By dawn they were moving. She'd left Hien in Yardow, and Ramza's people lacked mounts anyway, so the travel was by foot. But brisk. She could barely keep up.

The rain tailed off around midday, when they crossed into the cursed Yuguo Wood. In less than an hour the undead she'd managed to avoid on her way to Yardow had attacked. She fought savagely, coldly, eager to prove herself to her new companions, and the fight was over in moments. Nobody spoke -- perhaps this was commonplace to them -- save for Vector, who laughed nervously as he made some comment about her Heaven skill.

When evening came she found a spot by herself at the edge of the campsite, a broad space atop a craggy green hill. Below stretched half of northern Ivalice, it seemed, a collection of bushy trees and rectilinear farm fields etched into the earth. The vantage point from the hill was good enough that others used it frequently; a well-used firepit beckoned in the center until Knox got a blaze going in it.

After dining on an apple from her own supplies, she tossed the core down the hill and resumed her thinking. Her grieving.

At least until the feel of someone's eyes on her disturbed her introspection. Glancing up, she spotted Ramza watching her from twenty paces away. The fire, almost due behind him, left him largely silhouetted apart from a sliver of warm illumination dancing along the edge of his face and body. She met his gaze openly and waited.

Long moments later he turned and shuffled away, to the other side of the campsite, where he dropped to sit on the ground, outside of the fire's light. Rafa frowned after him, then rose to follow.

Agrias and Jasmine blocked her path, however, faces open and honest, perhaps artificially so. "Hey," greeted the former Holy Knight. "We don't want to impose or anything, but if you need to talk to anyone, we want you to know that you can. With anyone here."

"Except Ramza," added Jasmine with a grin. "He doesn't talk much."

Rafa glanced from face to face, one pale and chiseled, one olive and smiling. Then, shuffling forward, she reached for the silver hoop pierced through Jasmine's nose.

The priestess skidded back, raising one hand to catch Rafa's wrist, then blinked as though surprised she'd moved. An uncomfortable smile spread over her face after that, and she chewed a lip. "Um, what...?"

Rafa shook her head, withdrawing her hand from the other woman's grasp. "Thank you for the offer." Her voice threatened to crack as she spoke, so she did so quietly. "I... will keep it in mind."

Agrias nodded. "Okay. Just... so you know." The two women exchanged glances, then strode off towards the fire, Jasmine offering one last smile first.

Once they were gone, Rafa continued on her way to where Ramza sat alone with his back to the fire. He didn't turn around as she approached, didn't move as she claimed a seat on the damp ground beside him.

Long moments passed, and he said nothing. His head hung a little tilted to her side, and his bronze eyes stared disconsolately at the empty air.

Eventually he stirred without glancing at her. "What?" he whispered.

"You were staring at me. Why?"

His eyes slid shut, and his face sagged further, if possible. "I shouldn't have killed Malak."

Rafa blinked, then shifted her gaze to her lap. After a moment she placed her face in her hands and shook. Her eyes stung, so she squeezed them shut, and despite her efforts a few gasps escaped her slack lips.

"I still don't understand why you want to come with us, really," continued Ramza in a dead monotone. "You don't know any of us at all, and I'm a notorious heretic, and I've just hurt you in a way that's very hard if not impossible to recover from. Not a lot of reason to travel with us."

She bit her lip, hard, giving herself another sort of pain to focus on. Another sniffle and her eyes blurred further, and she scrubbed them wearily clear.

"So I just... I don't know. Why do you want to kill Barinten, anyway? If you really found those histories you talked about, why couldn't you have just showed them to Malak? Wouldn't he have believed you?"

Rafa sighed, wiping one last time at her eyes, and cleared her throat. She opened her mouth... then paused, glancing sideways at Ramza. At the heretic, the crazed killer. He wasn't even looking at her, instead poking at the ground before him. Something about his posture, about how his shoulders were slumped, radiated the feel of... humility? Indifference? Whatever it was, he was someone who wouldn't judge.

She lowered her gaze to her lap, let her eyes drift shut. "Barinten... was never a good parent. He was too busy to spend much time with us, and even when I was younger, he used to... his hands would... would roam." She swallowed, cleared a scowl. "I was young, seven or so, and though that seemed a little different to me, I didn't really get its significance until I got older. And as the years passed, it got... just a little worse, every day. Until just a few weeks ago."

She paused, but Ramza had the grace not to interrupt, so she took a breath and forced the words out. "Things got... much worse, then. Infinitely worse. It was night, and... I don't even think he'd been drinking, and I woke up and he was there, and he just... I... couldn't stop him. Tried to scream, but all I could do was whimper. It _hurt,_ and it hurt for a week, but he just laughed about it, like it was nothing out of the--"

"Rafa?"

"Hmm?" She was shivering now, fingers curled into helpless fists.

"Did he... are you saying he... _raped_ you?"

She swallowed again, then gazed over at him. He was staring back at her with a peculiar expression on his face, one she couldn't recognize. After a moment she sighed and stared back down at her lap.

"Oh, Rafa." His voice was a broken whisper, robbed of hope but glowing with sincere concern. "Rafa, I'm so sorry."

"So I just... had to get out of there," she murmured, toying with the laces of her boots. Her heart had calmed now, had slowed to a healthy pace, now that the words were out. "You're right; I could have proved it to Malak, about the village, but he was always a hothead. He would've blown up in my face, and then it would have been a week before we could speak again, and that was just too long. I had to leave."

"I understand."

She shook her head, then glanced sideways again. "So... well, that's why I want to kill Barinten."

Ramza nodded, staring bleakly at the ground.

She watched him for a moment, then tilted her head at him. "What about you, then?"

Lifeless hazel eyes rose to meet her gaze. "What about me?"

"Why are you like this?"

His face clouded momentarily as his eyes stared inward. Then he heaved a heavy sigh. "My... sister died."

She blinked, gazing off to the southeast for a moment, before frowning at him. "And?"

He shrugged. "The Death Corps kidnapped her. During the rescue attempt, she died. I was right there."

Rafa paused, eyes narrowing as she studied his profile. "What does that have to do with all this stuff you're doing?"

"It... doesn't." He shook his head, then spread his hands. "It was negligence that put her in that position in the first place. My brothers didn't care. Nobody cared. So I just... I want to find all the people in the world who are like that, who can just let innocent people die or even orchestrate their deaths, and kill them. That's all."

She chewed a lip, watching him. He'd used expansive, sweeping gestures during his explanation, the most animated she'd seen him during the day and a half of their acquaintance. _This is important to him._

Abruptly he grimaced, shifting his seat on the flattened grass. "This is a little odd."

"What is?"

He gestured vaguely between them, having apparent difficulty meeting her gaze. "I've never talked about this. With anyone. I... don't know why I am now."

She watched his discomfort for a moment longer, then shifted her gaze out to the darkness below the hill and swallowed past a lump in her throat. "We understand each other. You can't understand someone until you've suffered what they have."

"I suppose."

She didn't answer, and he didn't speak further. A quarter-hour later she rose and sought her blankets, and he did the same.

The next day brought more travel. Only a few hours of stiff hiking remained between their campsite and Riovanes Castle, but Ramza insisted on setting a brisk pace, and nobody complained. Rafa certainly didn't; the sooner she got there, the sooner she could confront Barinten.

Riovanes was just as she'd left it days ago, hard lines and unforgiving corners. Stark, blocky and intimidating. The only elements of beauty in the city were the delicate spires topping the castle towers and the arches of the aqueduct carrying water from nearby hills. At the city's outer gate, the pair of guards atop the wall barely even glanced in their direction as they strode inside.

By some hidden signal, Ramza and the others ducked quickly out of the street, into the first decent inn they came across. Rafa followed them in, gazing with mild curiosity at the sparsely-peopled common room, a collection of round tables polished to a warm glow. Agrias spoke quietly and to the point with the balding and muscular innkeeper, and then the whole group was trooping upstairs to the guest rooms.

Once inside the largest such, Rafa watched as Ramza shut the door, then frowned at him. "Why are we at an inn?"

"To plan," answered Agrias, throwing open the room's shutters, allowing a view of the upper story of the fur shop across the street. "And to stay out of sight."

"It's sort of a tradition for us," added Jasmine with a smile. Seated on the bed beside her, Vector bobbed his head in a nod.

"The plan today is very simple," decided Ramza, crossing arms and leaning back against the door. "Rafa's bringing me in as a captive, and no one else is coming."

"Don't be a moron," snapped Alicia. "Do you remember what happened the last time we didn't bring everyone with us?"

Ramza leveled a steady gaze at her. "Yes. I spoke with Zalbag in Lesalia and walked away without any problems."

The redhead's face flushed to match her hair, but her icy glare didn't change. "I... mean the time before that."

"Yeah. I got captured."

Alicia nodded. "So what makes you think--"

"Listen," sighed Ramza, scowling at the floor beneath his feet. "Rafa is known here. She's expected, and can reach Barinten himself without question. She can claim I'm there with a proposal or something, and I won't say anything until he sends his guards away. Then he's ours."

Alicia frowned at this, dark eyes narrowed, obviously trying and failing to find fault with the plan. Then she sighed.

"And," continued Ramza, "any plan that requires more people will also require fighting, which actually makes it less reliable. Rafa, are you willing to do this?"

She nodded. "It makes sense."

Ramza nodded as well, then pushed himself from the door. "Alright. We'll see the rest of you guys in a couple of hours."

"Wait."

He paused, then glanced back at Agrias. "What?"

The swordswoman gave her lips a distasteful twist. "At least leave the stones here. If you're captured again, I don't want to lose them."

"Oh. Yeah." He fumbled around briefly for the Zodiac stones, then tossed both to her. She caught them gingerly in both hands, hissing, as though afraid they might explode.

Rafa stirred, glancing around at everyone's belongings stowed against the walls, under the beds. "Is there anything we can use as a hood? Or some rope?"

"Actually, yes." Smiling, Lavian reached into her pack and produced a fold of black cloth, while Vector somehow came up with a length of hemp rope. A few minutes of tying and fiddling left Ramza giving a fairly convincing impression of a captive, though the ropes binding his wrists behind his back remained loose enough for him simply to shrug out of.

And then they were out, into the warm early-afternoon sunlight angling in against stone walls and streets. The city remained as populous as ever, stuffed full of merchants yelling at travelers. Full of animals, some loose, and urchins and street performers and beggars.

Rafa spoke only once on their way through the city. "Ramza."

"What?" His voice was muffled by the black hood.

"I won't be able to do it with my own hands."

"Okay."

At the gate to the castle proper, the guards waved at her, and one leered. She ignored them. Inside was a maze of hard greyish corridors illuminated to barbaric splendor by flickering wall lamps at too-far intervals.

A few questions to servants and pages directed her to the castle's top floor, to the Grand Duke's dining chamber. She pushed her way in without even knocking and strolled onto the low stone balcony area, Ramza in tow.

A broad space below. Sunlight slanting in to leave warm bars across the rug-clad floor. A table big enough to seat twelve, only now Barinten was the sole person at it, and he glanced up in sharp surprise at her entry. A fat man, balding in front, in a stately green robe, his face twisted in impatient irritation as only one born to nobility could do. "Oh, Rafa. You're back already?"

She nodded, striding to the rail of the balcony, a level rising some three paces higher than the floor below. There were guards, five guards. Two knights flanking the door behind her, then two more and a time mage lounging around behind Barinten. "Yes."

The Grand Duke grunted, tearing a bite from a leg of chicken. "Who the hell is that?" he muttered around a mouthful of food.

"This is a captive. He has a proposal for you."

"Oh?" Barinten chuckled, shaking his head. "Where's Malak?"

"Malak is dead."

The man paused at this, twisting around to frown at her. After a moment he resumed his chewing, then swallowed. "Killed by Ramza?"

Her face tightened. "This... should be discussed in private."

Barinten nodded impatiently, waving his guards off as he retrieved a silk napkin to wipe his face. The guards shifted and started shuffling towards the door, one man scratching an itch on the back of his neck as he did so. They found nothing unusual in this, at being dismissed so the lord of the castle could speak to his pretty assassin in private.

Once they were gone and the doors were closed, Rafa pushed Ramza ahead of her. He stumbled at the top of the stairs, and again at the bottom.

"Who's this, then?" sighed Barinten, twisting his chair around as they approached. "One of Ramza's troop?"

Two paces away, Rafa's hands were sweating. She released Ramza's rope, then, in one swift motion, drew her belt knife and pressed its edge against Barinten's crotch before he could even react. "One word from you," she murmured, staring into his widening eyes, "or one shout for the guards, and I'll cut your balls off."

"What is the meaning of this?" he hissed, teeth bared in fury. "Are you turning on me? You little bitch!"

Beside her, Ramza proceeded unhurriedly to slip his hands from the rope and unwind the hood from his head. "Shut up. You're going to answer our questions."

"Who... you!" Barinten's eyes widened again and his face went pale as he recognized the face on so many posters around town. "What the hell do you want?"

Without even a flicker of emotion, Ramza punched him in the face. "I said you're going to answer our questions. Don't make me repeat myself."

Barinten shook his head groggily, then spat blood to the floor. "Fine. What are your damn questions?"

Rafa narrowed her eyes. "Where's Taurus?"

"Oh? Is that what this is about? You filthy ingrate! Turning on me to get your grubby little hands on the Zo--"

Another punch from Ramza silenced him. "Use your tongue wisely while you still have it. You can answer questions in writing if you have to."

Barinten glared icy murder up at the other man as his blood-slick lips writhed in impotent hate. After a moment he bared his teeth in a snarling smile. "Taurus is in my pocket, you daft bastard," he answered in a low growl, pronouncing each word with delicate and sarcastic precision. "You'll never get away with this."

Unworried, Ramza reached into the Grand Duke's coat and shortly came out with a glittering yellow gem. Without a word, without even blinking, he tucked it into his own coat.

Rafa nodded another question at their victim. "Why were you trying to kill Ramza?"

"Why do you care about him? He's a madman, you know. I can't believe you're siding with him against me, you stupid little whore. Which of you seduced the other into coming here?"

She sighed, trying to summon a measure of patience. "I'm not yours to command anymore," she corrected. "You lost that privilege when you showed up in my room at night. But if you answer our questions with a minimum of rancor, I promise I won't kill you."

"Whatever. Fine." Barinten shifted in his chair, as well as he could with a dagger an inch from gelding him. "I... wanted the stones, and Ramza was in the way. Killing him would both eliminate a rival for gathering them, and serve to win the Church's good will."

"Is that why you were in Murond?" asked Ramza flatly.

The Grand Duke nodded. "I knew you were headed there, and that you were important to the Church."

Rafa shared a wordless glance with her new companion, then stared back down at her enemy. "Who's your contact in the Church?"

A sigh. "Vormav. Vormav Tingel."

"Who is he?"

"Shrine Knight. Top-ranking."

"What have you discussed with him?"

Barinten grimaced, opened his mouth, then glanced down at the dagger before slumping. "Not much. I just recently sent him a letter inviting him here."

Ramza frowned. "Why?"

"To leverage the fact that I have... had Scorpio and Taurus. To buy his help, find out where the others are, how they can be used."

Rafa tightened her grip on the dagger. "Why did you burn my village? I found the records. I know what you did."

Barinten donned a bloody grin. "Your elders were insolent. Refusing me? Honestly."

Her jaw clenched against her will. "You don't understanding the meaning of the word 'no,' do you?"

He shrugged. "No is meaningless without the power to back it up."

She shifted her gaze to Ramza. "Speaking of power, we're done, aren't we? I don't have any more questions."

He frowned at this, then regarded the sitting Barinten with as much expression he might give an insect. "I believe we're done. Up, now. On your feet."

Barinten waited until Rafa sheathed her dagger before standing. Dark suspicion painted his face. "What?"

"Over here." Ramza gripped the other man's shoulder with one hand, and with the other pointed towards the stained-glass windows. "There's something I want you to see."

Barinten rolled his eyes but complied, shuffling towards the windows, squinting against the light. "What? You can barely even see anything through th--"

He cut off with a grunt as a kick from Ramza sent him skidding forward. Into the windows. A balding head struck glass and shattered it, sending shards glittering out into the windy afternoon. Brinten planted shaking hands against the stone wall to push himself back, but Ramza leapt on him, smashing him back down onto the jagged remains of the window on the sill. One fist curled into greying hair, lifted him up, and slammed him down again. Razor-sharp wedges of glass bit into human flesh, growing slick with blood as they pierced face and throat and chest alike, again and again.

In moments it was over. Barinten's body lay slumped halfway out the window, oozing ruby life in generous trails down the wall.

Finally Rafa managed to pry her fingers from the hilt of her dagger. "Ramza... that was... brutal."

Humorless brown eyes shifted to meet hers, unapologetically. "Brutal is what I do now."

She swallowed, then smiled. A genuine smile. "Thank you."

He turned to regard the window, now opening into nothing but air and sunlight. "I bet we can get out through the windows. Let's go."


	10. Hidden Rocks

_Got a long line of heartache  
I carry it well  
The list of lives I've broken  
Reach from here to hell  
Back luck wind been blowing at my back  
I was born to bring trouble to wherever I'm at_  
-- Johnny Cash, "Thirteen"

Chapter Ten: Hidden Rocks

Agrias sat on the slope of a hill, bored, picking wildflowers. The sun was angling into her eyes from its position above the western hills but it didn't carry much heat today; for once she was actually glad for all the armor.

Beside her, among the long grass and occasional stubs of boulders, sat everyone else as they whiled away the time. Jasmine and Alicia lay sprawled against a slab of limestone, idly throwing flower petals down the hill. A short distance past them lay Knox and Lavian on their backs in the grass, probably watching the clouds or some such. Rafa sat at Ramza's side where, inexplicably, she'd been ever since he'd killed Malak; neither of them seemed to be talking much. Vector was the only one actually doing anything productive, as he lay on his stomach just short of the hill's crest, watching southward for anyone approaching from that direction.

Sighing, Agrias tossed her current wildflower aside, watched it flutter away in the breeze. "What if he doesn't come this way?"

Three paces away, Ramza twisted to face her. The sun slashing across his face made his pupils very small, and his eyes like polished acorns. "Could you please stop asking that?" Beside him, Rafa smiled at her lap.

Agrias grimaced. "Right. Sorry." The plan was to lay in wait for Vormav to approach, on the assumptions that not only would he accept Barinten's invitation, but that he would already be on the road and would come through their position here in Fovoham. "Even if he does come this way, though, it's not going to be easy. Vormav knows what he's doing. It won't be like fighting... Barinten, or even Wiegraf."

Ramza shrugged, gazing off across the tree-studded valley below them. "What else can we do? If the Shrine Knights control the stones, we'll have to go against them at some point. Best to make it on our terms."

She tugged another wildflower from the ground with perhaps more force than was necessary. "I know. You're right. I just... yeah." _Who knows? Maybe the element of surprise will even the odds a bit._

"So get comfortable," advised Ramza, re-folding his legs under himself. "We might be waiting here for a week."

Agrias sighed. "I know. Thanks for reminding me."

* * *

Dycedarg rode at ease, controlling Mestorle with his knees alone. Above, a smudge of thin clouds glowed pink with the first fiery salute of the absent sun, leaving the rocky ground below awash with a warm twilight.

Larg rode with him, as did Zalbag on his other side, both men lost to their thoughts. A knot of fifty of the trusted Hokkentai, elite Hokuten shock troops, circled them protectively, and beyond them lay the rest of their attacking army in its entirety. Over a hundred thousand men and chocobos, a martial plague blotting out the barren land near Bethla.

He'd arisen hours before dawn, in the middle of the night, really, and expected to be up until at least that time come next morning. Bethla Garrison lay just two miles to the east, hidden among the fuzzy violet curtain of pre-dawn, and countless men would have to die in and around it before he could rest again. And that included some of the men with him.

At the thought he turned to Larg. The fool was wearing a robe, of all things, sapphire blue, highlighted with crimson and worked in thread-of-gold. He probably had nothing more practical to ride in. "My lord."

Larg jerked his head up, fluffing his pale monk-cut hair, then grinned. "What is it, Dycedarg? Are we in position already?" An idle breeze carried a veil of rocky dust between them.

_Already? We've been riding for an hour._ "We are. We need to halt here, and after we hear the scouts' reports we can decide which of the battle plans to execute."

"Good. Good." Larg nodded, rubbing silver-lined gloves together. "Let's make this quick. I'm getting a bit of a headache."

_There's nothing quick about a battle of this scale, you fool._ "Of course. I'll see what I can do."

* * *

"So many," murmured Ovelia, frowning in worry. "How many are there?"

Delita smiled to himself. They stood in some officer's study in the heights of Bethla Garrison, though whoever claimed it was absent, doubtless out commanding troops in the field. The study was small and efficiently-organized, with two neat stacks of paper the only features of interest on a modest oak desk, but his attention was focused outside. Out past the wall of arm-thick stone, through windows that were little more than arrowslits. It was just past dawn now; the fortress in which he stood left a long blocky shadow stretching half a mile westward, over rocky hills and valleys and the soldiers and chocobos crawling antlike upon them.

"Do you even know?" continued Ovelia, turning wide brown eyes to him.

"How many Hokuten?" he clarified, pursing his lips. "Almost two hundred thousand, all told, including the support types. Nearly all of what they actually control; they've stripped every fort and city almost bare to produce this." There were considerably more Hokuten present than Nanten, a fact which didn't particularly disturb him. "I doubt you can see even half of them from here, though."

"That's insane," sighed Teta on his other side. "It's like a city."

He directed a smile out the window. "More or less."

"Can you even battle this many?" asked Ovelia in a breathy voice, focusing her gaze back outside.

"Of course. There's a plan." Or, rather, the Shrine Knights had a plan. He just happened to know about it. Without shifting his gaze from the settling army outside he rested a hand on Ovelia's silk-clad shoulder. "Do you remember what to do?"

"Oh, I... yes, of course." She no longer tensed under his touch. "Get Orlandu out of the fortress in the confusion of battle. You can count on me."

"Good." Shifting, he spared her a sidelong glance and found her smiling back at him. "Good. I will." Squeezing her shoulder once, he let his hand drop.

Something poked his other arm. "Hey. I have something for you."

"Hmm?" Turning, he watched as Teta rummaged around through her belt pouch.

Shortly she produced a single flower, something with delicate yellow petals and a bent green stem. "I found this earlier today," she explained, rolling the thing between her fingers, "between some rocks in the courtyard. I guess it got a little smashed in my pouch, but anyway, take it... and be safe today."

Without hesitation he plucked the flower from her fingers and tucked it behind one of his ears. "Safe is for grandmothers and infants," he countered with a grin. "This is a battle."

Teta's face went stony with disapproval. Ovelia stared at her boots.

"But," he continued, "I'm not going to die, if that's what you mean. Thank you."

Ovelia shifted, darting an uncertain glance up at him. Weak grey daylight filtered in through the window to paint her face a more pale hue than it usually was, leaving the rest of her in shadow. "Don't you, um... don't you have to go? You're a commander."

He shrugged. "I command officers, not rank-and-file soldiers. They can handle themselves until I get there... but, as you say, there's no need to keep them waiting. Ladies." Smiling, he swept a bow at the Princess, at his sister, then spun and strode out through the study door. He could feel their eyes on him as he left, concerned, worried eyes, and almost laughed. It would take more than a battle to kill him.

* * *

Dycedarg sneezed into a gauntleted fist, then gave his forehead an irritated rub. Larg's whining about headaches had given him one as well.

He had no time to dwell on it, though. Men were fighting, dying, all around in accordance with his plans. At a casual glance it would seem like chaos, with mounted groups of men as small as ten in number chasing one another around over bloodied stone, hoping to outflank men who were in turn trying to outflank others. Like froth in a rapids, like chaos, the storm of battle washed over the entire region around Bethla... but in a rapids, the movement of the water had structure, was governed by the layout of the rocks below it, and so it was today. He was the hidden rocks. His plans governed the chaos.

In truth, he reflected with a sour twist of his lips as he surveyed the unfolding carnage, things weren't perfect, and could never be expected to be. The troops weren't fighting as well as he'd hoped -- there had been more losses than he'd estimated -- but they'd managed to keep their discipline, to keep to the plan. Like a giant clockwork beast the battle ticked towards its preordained conclusion, with shouts and screams and clashing metal in place of musical chimes. Really, the hardest part was enduring the impatience of waiting for it to finish.

"Lord Dycedarg!" A lightly-armored runner approached, white cloak flaring around her ankles, and waved away a swirl of dusty wind. "Captain Blake's having trouble pushing against the Nanten stationed on the northern hill. He's down to twelve thousand men."

Dycedarg's lips twisted again as his eyes slid northward, to the low craggy rise in question, nearly concealed by a swarm of soldiers. "Split off five thousand from Kaplan's reserves and send them his way. And tell him to use them wisely, because they're the last reinforcements he's getting."

The girl offered a brisk nod. "Yes, sir." Turning to go, she coughed and waved once more to dispel the dust in the air. Then she swayed and dropped to her knees before collapsing bonelessly to the ground.

Dycedarg sat bolt upright in his saddle, staring at the fallen girl. His eyes were watering again, his nose tingling in anticipation of another sneeze. _Something... something's not right._ Another swirl of breeze, carrying with it the dry smell of rock dust, but also something... musty? _Mosfungus. Shit._

He stared at the runner a moment longer, heart pounding, before recovering from his shock. "Zalbag!"

The younger man seemed to stir from some introspection, then blinked at the fallen girl before glancing his way. "Brother?"

_The wind is coming from... the west? The troops upwind might be healthier. It has to be a plot to weaken us, so the Nanten can sweep out and crush our weakened forces._ "Go to our western-most reserves, whoever and wherever they are. Grab them, pull back a bit, and wait for the Nanten to storm out of the fort. When they do, fall on the fort like an avalanche."

Zalbag's noble brow creased in doubt. "Why? What about you?"

Dycedarg thinned his lips. "I need to find Larg. Our plans have to change."

"But what's--"

"Go! I'll explain later!"

Jerking a curt nod, Zalbag sawed on his reins, wheeling Telepassa and bounding off towards the west. A line of dust swirled in his wake before settling or being carried off by the breeze.

Dycedarg watched his brother with narrowed eyes until he'd disappeared among the mass of troops. _Good. Now, to find Larg._

* * *

Vormav rode across the rocky plains with his temper leashed by a bare thread. Golden sunlight washed brightly over stubborn grasses clinging to thin soil, over wildflowers waving in a constant wind, but if the weather had reflected his mood it would have been raining fire.

_Barinten must have the stones. He must._ The thought wasn't a new one, but despite its worn welcome it stoked the fires of his irritation anew. _I was a fool for letting him leave Murond. He probably had them even then._

"Father?"

_What does the Beoulve kid want with him anyway? Probably to kill him and take the stones. That's what I'd do._ He scowled, then cleared the expression in a blink. He never let his emotions paint his face. _We should reach Riovanes within two days. If those two haven't killed each other by then, I can just clean up whatever's left and recover the stones._

"Father?"

He suppressed a sigh. "What is it, Izlude?"

The young man at his side wore a worried frown, which he directed at the split and weathered rocks under his chocobo's claws. "What's going on with this Ramza guy, anyway? What's he after?" Beyond him, the robed Kletian snorted but kept his silence.

"He's after a quick death and a shallow grave. Now be quiet. I'm thinking."

Izlude rolled his shoulders in irritation but nodded. "Of course. Sorry, Father."

Putting the boy out of his mind, Vormav cleared another scowl and kept his gaze fixed on the road ahead. Just a couple of days to clean up this distraction, and then he would be back to pursuing the real plan.

* * *

"Brother! Where are you?" Zalbag tried not to cough as he stumbled up a rough slope. The dead and dying lay all around, some with wounds, some without, while farther away rang the constant roar of battle, shouting, blades clashing, explosions of magic. Things had gone south quickly with death in the air. "Brother?"

"Up here," came a weak answer from somewhere uphill.

With a grimace Zalbag scaled the incline, muttering curses as loose rocks tumbled away under his boots. At the peak of the miniature hill he found his brother, face pale under the beard, crouching to tend to the fallen form of Larg. Despite the corpses all around neither man wore visible bloodstains; perhaps they'd arrived after battle had swept over this place. "Brother, the reserves are--"

"Just a moment," muttered Dycedarg without moving his head, without taking his eyes off his fallen lord. "How are you doing?"

Larg summoned a smile. "A little... a little weak," he rasped. "But I'm sure I'll recover soon. I've had worse."

"That's a problem." Before Larg could do more than blink, Dycedarg drew his belt knife and slammed it into the other man's chest.

Zalbag froze where he stood, staring open-mouthed at the murder taking place before his eyes. Larg tried to struggle but was too weak; Dycedarg stabbed him again anyway, forcefully enough to lift him momentarily off the rocky ground. Blood bubbled in Larg's throat with every breath, and crimson flecks dotted his lips and chin.

When the man finally slumped, Dycedarg dropped the dagger and did likewise, shoulders rising and falling with his labored breathing. "Plant the dagger in somebody's hand," he instructed in a hoarse mutter. "Nanten, you know. Assassins."

_My own brother did that? A Beoulve? _Zalbag swallowed and finally found his voice. "What... why did...?"

"Quickly," snapped Dycedarg. "Before somebody shows up to...." He trailed off, scowling at nothing, then collapsed to the ground beside Larg's body.

_Shit._ Bolting forward, again nearly losing his footing, Zalbag rushed to his brother. Checked for a pulse and found one. _Still alive. Thank God._ But maybe not for long; the poison, or whatever it was in the air, would be spreading inside him.

"Medic!" Leaping to his feet, Zalbag spun around, scanning the uneven surrounding terrain through veils of wind-blown dust. A detachment of Hokuten had clustered only a few hundred paces away atop a low rise, all staring to the distant north, where swarms of Nanten were busy routing their poisoned enemies. Other groups of his own people dotted the slopes and valleys, some skirmishing with other Nanten, but for now the battle was to the north. "Medic!"

One of the officers below, a woman, turned her head in his direction and then waved an acknowledging hand, likely recognizing his clothes if not his face from that distance. Turning, she spoke quickly to her companions, and then two men in chemists' garb were running along the barren ground in his direction.

Nodding, Zalbag turned and frowned back to the north. By last count, some twenty thousand Nanten were there, butchering his weakened troops, but the last report he'd heard had been over an hour past. Dycedarg had been getting the better information. Dycedarg and Larg.

The thought turned his eyes towards the two fallen men near him, one dead and one not quite. His lips tightened in disapproval, in anger, but he kept his indignation under control. Killing Larg had been a crime, yes -- one of the worst -- but Dycedarg was family. He would have to explain later, but in private. One didn't just turn on family.

But regardless, he reflected, shifting his gaze back northward, it was all moot if the Hokuten lost the day. He'd left Sullivan in charge of the reserves, the healthy troops tasked with taking the fort, but things had changed since then. Drastically. The main Hokuten body was crumbling like rotten wood under a sledgehammer, and it would do no good to capture Bethla only to lose it again in a matter of hours.

With a frustrated snarl, he spun and bolted back down the slope, leaping down pace-high boulders, over the crystallized dead. At the bottom of the craggy peak he turned, angling along the cracked and weathered rock rising beside him, rounding the hill so he could make haste eastward, to the squads he'd seen earlier, who'd dispatched the chemists. He needed a chocobo, and they had the nearest one.

The two men were still jogging in his direction, and now slowed as he approached, clearly confused at his behavior. He preempted their questions by pointing back, towards the top of the hill. "Dycedarg is up there, wounded! Take him to the medical tent, quickly!"

The men's eyes widened at this, but the taller of the two saluted as he bolted past. "Yes, sir!"

With his brother tended to, Zalbag put the chemists out of his mind. He had to reach Sullivan, to pull back the only remaining healthy Hokuten troops before they could dash themselves against the walls of the garrison. Maybe find some masks against the foulness in the air, then turn around and descend on the backs of the Nanten attacking his main body... _yes. Yes, that's the plan now. We may not win Bethla, but I won't see us get slaughtered here either._

* * *

"How's he doing?"

Kitty squeezed excess water from the pale square of linen in her hand, then lay the folded thing on the sleeping Lord Dycedarg's fever-red forehead. As much sweat as water slicked his pale features, and the heavy crimson blankets pulled tightly to his chin would ensure he stayed that way until the sickness burned itself out. "Stable," she answered, finally glancing up at the diminutive Sophia. "He'll be like this for a few days, at most, but won't get any worse."

Sophia nodded briskly, hands on her hips. Finger-length silvery hair and sky-blue eyes had managed to earn her the hearts of a few of the male medics in the Second Restorative Unit, but with a personality as cold as her eyes, not to mention her recent promotion to lieutenant, none had bothered to approach her. "See that he stays that way."

Kitty smiled. "Of course." _What else would I do? Never pass up a chance to issue someone an order, do you?_

Sophia nodded again. Turning to the white-and-blue striped tent flaps, she paused and spoke over her shoulder. "I shouldn't even have to say this, but he's a priority patient. If you have to, let other people die to make more time for--"

A sharp gurgling cry outside cut her off. Kitty's hands clenched into alarmed fists at her sides.

With a low curse, Sophia swept the tent flaps open and bolted outside, into orange late-afternoon sunshine and the mayhem of organized murder. Shouts, screams, running men, weapons clashing. When she was gone, the striped flaps settled back into place, blithely presenting the illusion of safety. Sophia's muted voice called desperately for backup, for reinforcements she had to know wouldn't be arriving. Shouting that there were too many, too soon. More screams sounded, some sounding very close, and booted footsteps pounded on rock nearby.

Kitty swallowed, rising to her feet, glancing between the tent entrance and the slumbering noble on the sickbed. She'd removed Dycedarg's armor but he was still a man, still heavy. There'd be no way she could get him out of here, no way to avoid the marauding Nanten and get him to safety. He was a lost cause. The Nanten would overrun everything.

_Sorry, milord. You'd do the same for me._ Shaking her head, she drew her belt knife, slashed a new door into the silk fabric of the tent, and ducked outside. At least alone, she could get to someplace safe.

* * *

"Sixes. I win again."

Vector grimaced and shook his head. "Lavian, I know how to cheat at dice, and I still have no idea how you're winning."

She grinned, pale blue eyes aglow. "I'm a creature of chance."

"Apparently."

Ramza sighed and flipped another coin to the trampled grass serving as their makeshift dicing surface. Part of him suspected that Vector was letting the woman win just for fun, but the rest of him doubted the man could pull off such an act without his face giving it away. After six days of waiting in the same spot in Fovoham, there was little to do but gamble and nap, and let Rafa sit next to him.

The game's other two participants likewise tossed their antes into the center. Capricious breeze tugged at Lavian's short hair, pushed Vector's plain garments around, swirled patterns into the long grass all around.

"They're here!" hissed Jasmine from where she lay at the top of the hill, on lookout. "They're coming!"

Ramza twisted around to stare at her, then nodded. Idleness leapt into activity in all corners of their camp; Knox quickly tucked away his journal, while Agrias scabbarded the blade she was sharpening and flowed to her feet. Ignoring the coin he'd just surrendered to the game, Ramza rose, then crouched low as he trotted up to where Jasmine lay.

The spellcaster rolled back onto her stomach as he approached, then pointed to the south. "See? You can just make them out past that outcropping, two... maybe three miles away."

He squinted but nodded. Three figures, little more than colored dots at this distance, making antlike progress through a harsh wedge of a valley. Mounted. "Yeah. We have some time to prepare."

"So we do."

Compressing his lips, he turned and scooted back down their side of the slope, then stood when he could do so without fear of being seen by the approaching Shrine Knights. "There are three," he told his companions, meeting every eye in turn. "I think it's safe to go with the original plan. Jasmine?"

"Right," sighed the robed woman, turning to rummage through one of the backpacks. "Rubber boots for everybody. When they get close, I'll target you guys with Bolt spells, and Rafa will do her thing, and everyone else will run over the hill and attack."

"Everyone," called Agrias in a low voice, "this won't be an easy fight. Prepare as much as you need to. Don't feel like you're going overboard, because we'll probably need it all."

Ramza gave his lips a twist as he accepted a pair of boots from Jasmine, but didn't bother to contradict Agrias. She was right, if a little overprotective.

"More waiting," sighed Lavian as she stretched out to tug off her old boots. "I hate waiting."

"You've been saying that all week, girl-girl," noted Knox, beside her. "At least this wait will be short."

"Yeah. It better be."

* * *

"Sullivan!"

"Yes, sir!" The man whirled his chocobo about, waving away a cloud of dust.

Zalbag reeled his own mount to an abrupt halt, then coughed into a fist. "Status?"

"We've penetrated both gates, my lord; the north fell just moments ago." The blade-thin officer shifted his level gaze to the solid walls of the fortress rising some four hundred paces away, past clouds of dust and swarms of mounted soldiers. "I've sent teams into both but progress is slow. Nevertheless, we'll control the garrison in less than two hours."

Zalbag rubbed his forehead. _Those men are lost. Nothing to do about it now._ "Rally everyone who's not already into the garrison. There's been a change of plans."

Sullivan blinked steely grey eyes but merely nodded. "Yes, sir. What's the new objective?"

"Pull back. Mask ourselves up against this... plague in the air. Charge into the back of the Nanten routing our main force on the hill. They should be getting sick about now as well."

Sullivan nodded again. "Yes, sir. Lars!"

A burly red-haired fellow with a scar down one cheek jumped, then saluted. "Sir!"

"Send runners to Cain and Vincent! Relay Lord Zalbag's orders!"

"Sir!" Lars saluted again, then whipped his reins and bolted off towards the towering bulk of the garrison.

Zalbag followed the man with his eyes, then gave his lips a twist as he regarded the situation near him. Twenty thousand troops, minus whomever had disappeared into the fort already. Twenty thousand reserves, men who weren't even supposed to be part of the battle at all, originally. On the uneven hills all around, hundreds, thousands of eyes stared his way, understanding that something was happening, waiting to see what it was. Mailed fists tightened around spear shafts, hefted shields in anticipation.

_Waiting for me, huh? Suppose I'd better get to it._ Clearing his face, Zalbag bent to tear a strip of grey and black from his cloak. Then he stood in his stirrups, cupping hands to his mouth to address the soldiers. "Men! Everyone! Listen up!"

A faint rustle passed through the troops as the few eyes not already on him shifted his way. "As most of you know," he began once there was relative silence, "there's something in the air. Poison. It's worse farther west, which is where we're about to go, so it's only natural that we take some precautions, don't you think?" Scattered chuckles answered this as he held aloft the strip of cloth from his cloak. "So before we march back to butcher our Nanten friends, everyone here needs to find a strip of cloth, or anything you can use as a mask, and then use it as such. Tie it to your face, or whatever. If you have any water, make it damp, but I'd avoid using wine or ale if you only have liquor. We want to present a respectable image as conquerors, don't we?" More laughs arose from the gathered men. Zalbag smiled and lowered his arm. "See to it while your commanders get organized. We'll be marching in moments."

As he hopped down to the ground and reached for the waterskin on his commandeered chocobo's saddle, Sullivan shuffled closer and spoke in a low voice. "They have reserves too, sir."

"I'm aware." Popping the cork out, Zalbag trickled lukewarm water onto the wool in his hands. "I'm expecting them to attack us once we're already engaged with the main host." Turning, he regarded the officer while tying the makeshift mask on, tugging a sodden knot into place behind his head. "One of the reasons for this charge is to draw them into attacking us in a place of our choosing. If they haven't prepared as we're doing now, we'll have the advantage due to the poison they deployed against us."

Sullivan pondered this, flinty eyes thoughtful, before quirking a tiny smile. "As you say, my lord. I'll make it work."

"See that you do."

* * *

"Is this the one?"

"I think so. That's what Delita said, anyway."

Ovelia nodded, chewing a lip, ignoring the worried frown on Teta's face. Cold fingers tightened around an even-colder iron ring, from which hung a dozen heavy keys. She knew which one she needed, but as her fingers toyed with it, she found her gaze sliding to the man beside her.

Olan Durai wasn't a pretty fellow. He may have been once, with dusky skin, sharp features and pitch-black hair, but at some point he'd acquired a face full of wicked scars. One jagged right through his left eye, and the black leather eyepatch he wore over the injury didn't soften the lines of face in the least. The stark topknot atop his head would have looked more at home on an assassin or inquisitor.

As the silence stretched, his good eye slid flatly to meet her stare.

Ovelia tore her gaze away and smothered a nervous giggle. In the few times she'd been in his presence, she'd never heard him speak. "Olan, this... this is the door, right?"

The scarred man pondered this for a moment, then nodded. The lamp he held in one gloved fist cast warm and wavering shadows on moss-slicked subterranean walls.

Teta shifted, rubbing goose-bumped arms through her sleeves. "Ovelia," she whispered, "we need to hurry. I don't like this place."

"I know. I'm sorry." Ovelia squeezed her eyes shut, drew a deep breath, and let it unsteadily out. Really, there wasn't much to fear -- if she barged into the wrong cell, whoever was in there wasn't likely to be dangerous, all chained up -- but her belly was fluttering nonetheless. _Ruvelia is in one of these. She wants to kill me... but then, this place is full of marauding soldiers who'd kill me too, given the chance. I can't be afraid. Delita is trusting me to do this._

Exhaling briskly, she nodded and opened her eyes. The key fit snugly into the massive lock, to her surprise, and a grunting two-handed twist clicked the lock into separate halves. Olan reached past her, tugged the thing aside, and kicked the door open.

Rolling lips between her teeth, Ovelia shuffled into the cell and waited for the others to follow with the lamp. Golden light spilled past a hard corner within, dancing and jumping as it washed from one side of the far wall to the other, eventually revealing a tall armored figure.

Cidolfas Orlandu was much as she remembered him, solid as a tree trunk and about as fancy. His captors had apparently tossed him in here without bothering to relieve him of his equipment, because armor clicked and weapons clinked as he held up a meaty forearm to guard his eyes from the sudden light. The plain brown cloak he wore in place of the more decorative standard his position surely afforded him would not have been amiss on any common soldier.

After a moment he lowered his arm to reveal a wry smile on that weathered face. "Highness. When I heard a woman's footsteps, I thought it might be you. Greetings." That same arm swept down, swirling his cloak around, as he offered a deep bow.

She swallowed, half-glancing towards Teta, then advanced a few steps towards the man. "General, we have to get you out of here. The Hokuten are attacking."

"Attacking?" His head jerked up, and pale blue eyes widened in surprise. "Now?" After a moment he grimaced. "Then you're absolutely right. There's no time to waste." Nodding to himself, he hitched his cloak and strode towards her. They hadn't even chained him up.

"Um, you..." Ovelia held her hands up, then summoned what she hoped was a smile. "You're supposed to be escaping, not joining the battle."

Greying eyebrows climbed dramatically at this. "Escaping? That's... oh, hello, Olan."

"Father." The scarred man's voice was a sandy rasp.

"That's silly," continued Orlandu, turning his attention back to Ovelia, staring down at her from his considerable advantage in height. "Why would I escape? My place is at Goltana's side, all this recent trouble aside."

She shook her head firmly. "No, Goltana's being assassinated as we--"

"_What?_"

"--as we speak, and you're... Delita's faking your death so that you can get out of here without anyone following you. Please, General! We have to leave!"

"Absolutely not." Orlandu's heavy brows drew together into an offended scowl. "I need to find Goltana and make sure he stays safe. After that, I have men to command and a battle to lead, apparently."

Ovelia shook her head again. "The plot to kill you is the High Priest's own. Delita was supposed to be doing the deed, but he's got his own ideas. He'll still kill you, though, if you show up after you've supposedly already been killed, and he says there are probably others watching for you too. And you're not a commander anymore, anyway."

The old warrior paused at this, and his scowl shifted into a more thoughtful frown. "I... see where you're coming from," he conceded after a moment, "but still, my duty is to protect Goltana. Please, move. We need to get going. _I_ need to get going."

"No, you...." Ovelia licked her lips. _I need to change his mind. What would a real princess do? A real queen?_ "If... if you run off to Goltana, he'll just have you thrown into a cell again, or worse, if he doesn't mistake your approach for another assassination attempt. And if he's even still alive. What would you do if you found his corpse and them someone just found you standing there?" She paused, swallowing, then pressed on. "And also, there are Hokuten all over the fort. It took the three of us a half-hour to get here because we had to stop and wait for soldiers to pass all the time. So if you go to Goltana... I don't know if Olan is enough to keep Teta and me safe."

Orlandu's face tightened at this; worried creases spread from the corners of his eyes as he studied her, clearly torn. He still believed he served Goltana, and could scarcely imagine fleeing such a position to disappear, but on the other hand, he was too honorable a man to allow any woman to come to harm under his watch.

Finally he offered a grudging nod. "It seems you have me caught, Highness. If what you're saying is the truth -- and I can't imagine otherwise -- then indeed the best place for me right now is with you. And later... perhaps... out of sight, somewhere. Underground, as they say." Judging by his dry tone, this thought seemed both to disgust and amuse him.

Ovelia slumped in relief, clutching at Teta's arm, then offered a weak smile to the old general. _Thank God. I thought I was going to have to cling to his ankles to slow him down._ "Okay. Thank you. Thank you very much."

Orlandu chuckled, a deep and rich sound, then gestured ahead with one gauntleted hand. "Lead on, Highness. Let us make ourselves scarce."

* * *

They came out of nowhere.

One moment Izlude was riding up another grassy slope, lost in thought, and in the next people were everywhere, screaming, attacking, as jagged lightning crackled out of the clear sky. He drew his blade and shouted, barely fending off a whooshing slice from a towering man in armor, but something found Barok under him, some arrow or ball or spell, and the beast toppled with a strangled cry.

Gritting his teeth, Izlude dove from the saddle, putting his dead or dying mount out of his mind, and managed to shoulder the ground and roll to his feet. The big knight had disappeared somewhere, leaving him to face a short redheaded monk and a lean ninja with twin glittering blades. Somewhere nearby his father was shouting, but he couldn't make out the words. Elsewhere, Kletian was chanting, his voice quiet and unhurried as always, drowned out by the mayhem of battle.

Before Izlude could do more than gauge the situation, the ninja darted forward, blades whistling, gleaming in the radiant sunlight. One struck Izlude's shield; the other bit into the flesh of his shoulder. At almost the same moment, the monk danced almost lazily forward, seeming to move far too slowly, until one boot came out of nowhere to strike him in the temple with the force of a club.

Staggering sideways, he bit off a curse and gave his head a brisk shake. _Wait until they attack,_ he reminded himself grimly, _absorb the blows, and then counter with deadly force before they can move. The Knight Blade way._ Hissing, he darted a backhanded slice across the ninja's stomach and was rewarded with a spray of blood and a grunt.

And then he was in the air. Leaping.

The horizons spun in slow, majestic circles around his flipping body, cleaving the world into hemispheres of blue and green, sky and grass. Rippling wind tugged at his hair, his clothes, brought a smile to his face despite the mild pain of his injuries. He enjoyed fighting outdoors much more than indoors, where his range of motion was so restricted.

As the ground and the battle sailed ever closer, he held his blade out to one side, waiting for the right moment, watching, anticipating. Then he shouted and whipped the weapon into an overhead slash, letting his legs catch the massive stress of landing without injury. His blade bit into the cowardly ninja, throwing an arc of crimson as it rejoiced in taking the blood of a heretic. The man shouted and staggered back; Izlude laughed as he bounded a half-dozen paces away.

But somehow the monk had anticipated where he-- she was behind him, somehow; he couldn't turn fast enough to... Something pounded into the back of his head, driving him to his knees, nearly blinding him. Then something else tore through his body, a roar of earth and angry stone, exploding through a line of bare, blasted ground extending nearly to the falling ninja ahead.

He couldn't hear. No sound but the heavy pounding of blood in his ears.

His sword dropped from nerveless fingers. Before it reached the ground he was following it, toppling forward to the smoking earth before him. The taste of metal; a wet gurgling in his lungs. Dirt against his cheek. Wide eyes, staring along the ruined ground.

Booted feet raced past his field of vision, crushing the grass before his eyes before disappearing again. He could barely move now, and it was cold. Sunny, and so much colder than he'd been led to believe. It wasn't time yet; he hadn't... would Meliadoul know? Would be nice to tell her, that it didn't hurt much. Cold, but not so much pain. But with her stone, maybe it wouldn't....

_Stone._ Pisces, in his coat pocket. If it disappeared when he crystallized, his father would be angry.

With one foot already in the heavens, Izlude put all his remaining energy into moving his arm, fumbling into his clothes. When his numb fingers closed over something small and hard and precious, he smiled.

* * *

With a snarl Zalbag yanked his sword free from a Nanten soldier's head. As the corpse tumbled to the bloodied ground, he spun his chocobo around, glancing wildly all about, but there were no other enemies near. That had been the last of this latest squad sent to kill him.

Exhaling steadily, he shook blood from his blade and gripped his mount's reins more tightly with his shield hand. He stood in the center of a raging battle, forty thousand strong, in a bubble of calm some twenty paces across. Hokuten to his west and south, Nanten to the north and east. His masked troops had fought off the worst effects of the poison in the air, giving them an advantage over the unprotected Nanten. Warm sunset light slanted in from the west, painting the rocks orange and the blood ruby-black.

"General Zalbag!" A bearlike officer struggled through the nearest ranks of Hokkentai and hurried to salute him. "Ill news, my lord!"

"Out with it." Zalbag's gauntleted fingers tightened on his sword hilt as he scanned the banners of the Nanten to the north. Were there more than there'd been an hour past? _More reinforcements? Unlikely._ The last group of reserves to bring the battle to his people had been met by Sullivan's men, who'd been expecting them, so losses had been--

"It's the Lord Dycedarg, my lord. He's dead. The Nanten have overrun the medical tents."

"What?" Zalbag snapped his gaze to the other man, who shifted his feet. "Dead? Dycedarg is dead?"

The officer swallowed and nodded, averting his gaze. "A group of Nanten split off from the main group and went after the wounded specifically. There... there were no survivors."

_No survivors._ Zalbag met the other man's fearful dark eyes, then shifted his own gaze westward, squinting against the red sun kissing the hills. "What of the troops stationed there?"

"Likewise dead, my lord. The Nanten knew exactly how many men to bring in order to mop everything up and still move quickly."

"Noted." Words rolled past his lips without thought. "Inform Sullivan. If something happens to me, he's next in line to command."

"Yes, my lord. Is there anything else?"

"No. You may go."

"Yes, my l--"

"General Zalbag!" A young-faced runner darted through the ranks before the other man could depart, then sketched a hasty bow. "More Nanten reinforcements! They're attacking Aurora's unit on the southern flank!"

"More? On the south?" Zalbag blinked. "How many? Where did they come from?"

"Some six thousand, my lord." The boy wrung his hands as he spoke. "They split off from the first group of reserves, taking heavy losses as they retreated to flanking distance."

Zalbag clenched a helpless fist. _Shit._ He and Sullivan had pondered the numbers of the reserves attacking earlier, wondering why there were so many. The enemy commander was being cautious, they'd decided. Or else he hadn't known exactly how many Hokuten there were on the hill and was playing it safe. _God damn it. That was stupid of us._ "All right. Tell Aurora to hold her ground for another hour no matter how many losses she takes. Pull Vincent's third division from the north and deploy them south and east. Shield wall -- hold the Nanten back to give the rest of us more time. All other commanders, execute a graceful retreat. In two hours we want to be a mile west of here, at the top of that hill. Go! Now!"

"Yes, sir!" Both men, young and old, saluted, then ran off in different directions.

Teeth bared, Zalbag reared his current chocobo -- his third of the day -- and waved his bloody sword over his head. "Hokuten! West! Fall back to me and move west!"

"West!" Two dozen voices bellowed out his orders all around, passing the word along to others more distant without waiting for runners to do it for them. Others took up the call. "West! Fall back!"

Without anything better to do, Zalbag swung his sword with a silent snarl, invoking a Ruin to cripple a few of the Nanten soldiers attacking his people, then backed off. _This day is lost._

* * *

Ramza watched without expression as another Wave Fist deflect off Vormav's shield. The man was good. Too good. So good that Ramza was forced to ignore the rest of the grassy battlefield except for the brief glimpses afforded by his peripheral vision. Izlude had hacked Vector down some time back, and then had fallen himself. Kletian had toppled Jasmine with some spell or other. Agrias, the last he'd seen, had been looting Izlude's body in the middle of the battle. _Whatever. She knows what she's doing._ He had no time or attention to spare for the others.

Vormav swept in for another slash, cutting his blade horizontally so fast it blurred. Ramza barely managed to avoid it, dancing back, and watched his counterattack strike only empty air. The Shrine Knight was too fast, too smart, and his reach with the sword kept Ramza too far away to do any damage except with Earth Slash, which hadn't seemed to bother him much.

Another slash, this one overhead, hummed through the air. Ramza dove sideways into a roll, coming up with a kick at the other man's legs, which struck only unforgiving metal plate. Twisting his lips, he flowed to his feet to circle, ignoring the shards of his own shattered armor crunching under his boots with every step.

"You're pretty good," remarked Vormav, blurring into another series of brutal attacks, driving Ramza back and sideways. "I figured you would be, after everything, and you haven't disappointed me."

_I'm so glad._ Ramza kept the distaste from his face as he twisted and contorted to the best of his ability to avoid the other man's glittering blade. _Why is he talking? This battle must not be a challenge for him. And really, why would it be? He has me totally on the defensive._

"Your people took Izlude down pretty quickly," continued the Shrine Knight without apparent regret touching his hard features. "It's possible they'll take Kletian down as well. I must congratulate you on being a worthy foe."

_Too much talking. Waste of breath._ In a momentary respite, Ramza crouched, studying his enemy with every last ounce of his attention. Strong movements, almost ridiculously strong; he could probably cut through a boulder as easily as flesh. Smooth, too, and beautiful, like water running over clear glass. A master. Only a few weak points in his armor, which his speed and experience allowed him to keep protected with his shield.

"But it hardly matters." Vormav's voice was calm, almost bored, as he shadowed forward for another volley of slashes. "I can't die, and you can't outrun me. Your death is a matter of elementary logic from here. Quite a shame, really; it's useful having you around as a scapegoat for everyone to hate."

Ramza slipped sideways around a disemboweling stab, then fired off another Earth Slash, though it left the man with only scrapes and bruises. _Too slow. At this rate he'll cut me to ribbons before I can really hurt him. I have to do something else. Maybe attack the weapon again? Like with Wiegraf and Gafgarion?_

A whistling slice through cool air caught Ramza's shoulder, sent a spray of blood blinding him for a moment. "Ah," murmured Vormav. "Getting tired, are you?"

Ramza blinked away the blood, diving into another roll during his moment of blindness. _Yeah. The weapon, or else grappling. I doubt he has much skill in close-quarters fighting. He'll cut me once as I'm getting close, though._

Once on his feet, he crouched again, waiting for the next attack. It came quickly in the form of another forceful strike, a would-be decapitating blow. At least Vormav was too professional to toy with him.

Twisting into the slash, Ramza snapped an open palm into the other man's wrist, slowing but not completely arresting the sword's momentum; as such the edge bit into his other shoulder, but he was already moving, already completing his spin. Folded knuckles drove towards Vormav's crotch but struck the shield instead, as he'd hoped, for it made the follow-up kick into the knight's face land without any problems. In the blink while Vormav stood stunned, Ramza struck him twice more, once in the chest and once in the throat. From there it was a simple matter to run up the man's plated chest to kick him one last time in the face, before flipping a few paces back and firing off another Earth Slash.

When the smoke cleared, a bruised and bloodied Vormav picked himself off the ground and gave his head a slow shake. Ramza sighed, taking the opportunity to mend some of his wounds with a chakra.

"I wasn't expecting that," admitted Vormav, slapping dust from the tattered violet tabard draped over his armor. His face had been badly bruised, not to mention coated with dirt, and a smear of blood now slicked greying hair to his left temple. "Very good."

_Enough with the compliments._ While the man was still getting his bearings, Ramza danced forward again, forcing him on the defensive. One snapped punch dented Vormav's breastplate, pushed him a skidding pace backwards; a follow-up to his face resulted in a broken nose and a bloody knuckles.

Ramza kept up without mercy, favoring an aggressive, all-out offense, keeping Vormav to a harried and hasty defense. No straight lines, only curves and twists and circles, throwing off the Shrine Knight's sense of rhythm. A blocked kick to the kneecap, followed by a sweep that succeeded in throwing the armored man to the flattened grass.

_I must be figuring his style out. This isn't bad._ As Vormav rolled away, Ramza followed with a few kicks before leveling another Earth Slash. Apparently his enemy was another like him, someone who felt at home only on offense, only when attacking. Ramza quite understood; he had nobody to fight for. Nobody to protect. Only people to kill before--

Abruptly his knuckles struck metal instead of the flesh he was expecting; Vormav had anticipated. Without hesitating a blink Ramza shifted his attack, blurring an open-handed strike to his opponent's neck, but again he struck only metal.

A flash, sunlight on steel. Another, too quick to follow.

Choking back a shout, Ramza stumbled backwards, reeling, then actually fell to his backside. Something was wrong; something was.... With the blood now sheeting down his face, it was hard to see, but he had no problems making out the stump where his left hand used to be.

* * *

"No!" Ignoring the corpse of Izlude, Agrias leapt into motion, bolting across ten paces of trampled and blood-splattered grass. Then she dove into Vormav, tackling him into the ground to prevent a finishing blow to the crippled Ramza.

The Shrine Knight grunted as they rolled and grappled; his sword sought to snake its way into her belly but she kneed it aside from her superior position, all the while hoping to crush his neck with one plated forearm and a teeth-bared grimace. Her right hand remained closed in a tight fist over the Zodiac stone she'd taken from the dying Izlude before he could use it. She hadn't had time to identify it, only to see that it was blue, like Aries.

Something cold bit into her side. He had another blade, then, probably a dagger. Against her will she tensed, grinding her teeth as she leaned harder into Vormav's throat, hoping to bat away the weapon with her free hand, but in that moment of reflex he lunged, and she went flying. Arms flailing, dizzy, flying, like she'd been thrown by a bear.

The ground struck her without mercy, and something snapped in her shoulder. Stars flashed through the blurring sky in her vision, while sparks danced up her right arm. She gasped; the Zodiac stone slipped from numb fingers. _Damn it!_

Growling, she fumbled around through stalks of flattened green grass and spared a wild glance upwards. To her surprise Vormav hadn't followed her; instead he had picked himself up from the ground to face a limping Knox, looking dwarfed beside the brutish knight. As she watched, Lavian hurried over as well to level her blade at the Shrine Knight, showing no signs of pain on her cool face despite the blood covering half her person. Alicia lay face-down in the grass some distance away, near the robed Kletian, who lay twitching and choking on his own blood. Rafa stood still as a statue, one hand raised, lips slightly parted, chest frozen in mid-breath, the victim of some spell or other.

"Agrias." Knox turned only his head, speaking over his shoulder without taking his eyes off Vormav. "Get Ramza and the other wounded out of here. Lavian and I will hold him back."

"That's stupid," she snapped, still searching for the damned stone. _Where is it? I dropped it right here._ Vormav was more than a match for any two of them, she suspected, but if she herself joined the fight they could kill him and tend to the fallen... but that meant finding her sword again -- she'd lost it rolling on the ground with Vormav -- and using it with her left hand besides, since her right arm was broken, which meant no shield, assuming she was even able to find the new stone at all, but even so--

"Agrias." This time it was Lavian who spoke. "Just do it. We'll catch up with you later."

She hesitated, opening her mouth, but Lavian's blue eyes slid to meet her own. Eyes cool as the depths of the sea, sad, smiling. She knew.

Swallowing, Agrias glanced to Knox; as if sensing her gaze he tore his attention from Vormav long enough to nod once at her. Calm as you please. He knew too.

She stared into his murky eyes a moment longer, then offered a tight nod. Everybody made choices, and you couldn't second-guess everything. "Fine." Ramza still lay a short distance away, nearly unconscious from shock, but Vormav and Kletian had dismounted to fight, and as the chocobos were probably trained for travel rather than war, they'd wandered a short distance from the fight and were busy grazing. Izlude's mount had fallen, though, and was nothing but a pile of blood and feathers. _Get Ramza to a live bird and throw him to the saddle, then Alicia and Jasmine, and Rafa should wake up soon._ "Fine." Twisting, she met Lavian's gaze, then Knox's. "Good luck."

Neither bothered to reply. Instead, Knox raised his massive blade and charged the dirty and dented Shrine Knight, while Lavian circled in to attack him from behind.

Agrias put them out of her mind, finally returning her attention to the ground to find the stupid... _oh, there it is._ A gleam of sea-blue amid the grass and dirt, complete with an etched symbol. _Pisces._

Grabbing the stone with her good hand, she tucked it into a belt pouch and hurried to where Ramza lay staring at the purpling sky. Behind her, blades clashed in a metallic song she knew all too well.

* * *

Delita sat atop a low rise, hands folded across the pommel of his saddle, watching with a small smile as his swarming troops beat back the retreating Hokuten. It was almost dusk now, and his men fought uphill, with the orange sunset glow in their eyes, but it wasn't enough of a hindrance to help the Hokuten at all. Without doubt the enemy commander, whoever he was at the moment, was hoping to find the top of the hill a defensible camping place for the night. And perhaps he would... after dispatching the extra four thousand Nanten troops hidden behind the rise, who would fall on him as he backed onto the hilltop. And after that, quick-moving Nanten archers would be raiding the place all night long, rotating in and out of duty, to make sure no one among the Hokuten got a full night of sleep.

Then, come dawn, with his men sick, exhausted, tense to the point of snapping and surrounded on all sides by enemies, the Hokuten commander might attempt a last-ditch offensive to regain the garrison. By that time, of course, those Nanten poisoned today would have been administered antidotes stocked well beforehand in anticipation of the Church's treachery, and would be rested besides. After watching his men get cut to ribbons by tight ranks of Nanten buoyed by advantages in numbers, morale, organization, health and terrain, the Hokuten commander would likely be well-disposed to signing the rather generous surrender papers Delita had prepared for him weeks in advance.

And that would be that. Once Ovelia could be moved safely back to Zeltennia, and the inevitable few assassination attempts failed, the war would be over mere months after it started. "Not too shabby, compared to the last one."

"What was that?" rasped Olan beside him. "Didn't hear you."

Delita blinked, sparing a glance at the scarred fellow, then waved a dismissive hand. Warm light left fuzzy and indistinct shadows over Olan's hard face, and likely over his own. "Nothing." Gripping his chocobo's reins, he turned the feathered beast back towards the garrison and started moving at a leisurely pace. Olan turned to follow, and Delita threw him another sideways glance as they walked. "This thing is over, for us. In half an hour I want the senior commanders of the third through seventh divisions in my study, and I want to know what our losses were -- exactly, down to the very last man -- and what the status of each squad is. After that I think they can manage on their own for a few hours while I catch some sleep. You should get some too."

"Of course." Olan's voice, as always, was flat and hard as the stone over which they rode. "Consider it done."

Delita nodded, reaching to touch the flower Teta had given him before the battle. She'd be worried, of course, the silly girl, after he'd told her not to, so the relief and pleasure on her face upon seeing him alive would all the reward he needed. Ovelia, too, would be relieved, not to mention proud at accomplishing what he'd asked her to do, though as usual she'd try and fail to keep her feelings from her face. Her averted gaze and shy blushes would be just as worthwhile as his sister's hug would be.

_Gah, these women are going to turn me into a softie._ Snorting, then ignoring Olan's curious glance, Delita started whistling something that sounded merry and let the screaming roar of battle fade behind him.

* * *

Knox dropped to his knees, coughing blood into the grass. Sparkling stars swam in his doubled vision, and his legs shook so much he could barely keep upright. Numb, blood-slicked fingers could still grip his sword, but all he could do with the thing was plant it in the ground and make sure he didn't fall the rest of the way over. Lavian lay beside him, just a few paces away, staring with wild eyes in his direction. She was still breathing -- quick, shallow, bubbling breaths -- but she wouldn't be for long. There was fear in her blue eyes, the first he'd ever seen there. Not the fear of dying, but that their efforts hadn't been enough.

He forced a smile with face muscles that wouldn't move as well as he'd have liked. _We did fine, girl-girl. They made it. We'll talk about it in a few moments, on the other side._

A shadow cut abruptly across his vision, silent and looming. Swallowing, Knox glanced up and squinted against Vormav, nothing but a silhouette against the radiant orange of the setting sun. With his helmet long since shattered, an errant breeze pushed a few locks of hair into his eyes, and he shook them away. "We're not afraid of you, Lucavi."

"Hmm. Pity."

* * *

Rafa sat cross-legged under a starry black sky, cradling Ramza's head in her lap. It was a cold night in the hills, windy; she'd thrown her blankets over him as he slept but kept his bandaged arm out. He would want to see it when he woke. Blood had soaked the pale linen black, but it had clotted for now, and the same was true of the gash across his face. He'd been lucky not to lose an eye too. The thought tightened her throat, made her swallow, and once again she brushed sandy hair from where it lay over the bandages covering half his face.

"How far away are we?" asked Vector in a low, hoarse voice. His entire abdomen was a mass of blood-soaked linen, and his posture was stiff with pain where he sat leaning against a pale boulder. "From where the fight was?"

Agrias didn't bother looking up from where she was bandaging a grimacing Alicia's head. "Couple miles."

Vector stared at the Holy Knight for a moment, then returned his attention to the ground. Beside him, Jasmine remained motionless where she lay, as pale as her olive skin would let her be. Until she woke, or until Agrias recovered somewhat, all healing would be the old-fashioned way, by means of potion and bandage.

Rafa shifted her gaze back to Ramza's shadowed face. He looked so... worn, so beaten now, lying like any other man might in a battlefield infirmary. Even the parts of his face not shrouded in bandages looked sorry, all dirty and scraped and bruised, like he'd rolled down half a mile of hill.

_Wake up._ The persistent breeze had pushed his hair around again, and once more she brushed it back. _Wake up. People need you._

Moments slipped past. Agrias finished bandaging Alicia, and the redhead sat up somewhat unsteadily, holding a hand to her head as if dizzy. Vector sat so still Rafa decided he'd fallen asleep.

Eventually Ramza's one uncovered eye flickered open. For a moment he tensed, glancing every which way without moving a muscle, before finally staring up at her and blinking, seemingly confused. Likely he hadn't expected to wake up with his head in her lap. Or perhaps at all.

Before she could speak, his face tensed. Starlight glittered in the shadows of his uncovered eye. "What happened?" A bare whisper, so quiet the wind almost swallowed it.

She hesitated, watching him, gauging his condition. "You... you're hurt," she whispered back.

He remained silent for a moment, eye wide and owlish, unreadable, before lifting what remained of his left arm to stare at it. Vormav had sliced cleanly through skin, muscle and bone alike, cleaving off Ramza's hand and half of his forearm, and the slash across his face had cut deeply, angling between his eyes and down across his left cheek. Even with magical healing, he'd have a scar.

Eventually his brow furrowed in apparent confusion as he twisted his arm one way, then the other. "It... it'll come back, right? Someone can heal it back?"

She bit her lips, then forced a smile as her fingers caressed his cheek. "That's not... not really how magic works, Ramza." Her words came out hoarse, almost husky.

"Yeah. Of course." His crippled arm fell back to the blankets, and his good eye slid wearily shut. "Just my luck, isn't it? Ah, well. What about everyone else?"

"They're...." She trailed off, aware of Agrias shaking her head quickly off to the side, but didn't tear her gaze from Ramza's face. "Look, Ramza, you lost a lot of blood. You need to sleep more now, okay? We'll talk about it when you're up on your feet." _There's nothing you can do now._

"No, I...." He frowned again, opening his eye again, somewhat slowly as though already battling slumber. "I need to get...."

She placed a gentle hand on his chest, holding him down. "Sleep. Okay? I wouldn't say this if you didn't truly need the rest. If... if you tried to stand now, I think you'd faint."

His frown deepened into a scowl before fading to an expression of mild annoyance. "Fine. But... when I get up... I'm...." He trailed off into an indistinct mumble, then fell totally silent, already asleep. His head rolled sideways, against her calf.

Boots whispered among grass as Agrias approached to stare down at him. "We should move again."

Rafa nodded. "I know." One more time, brushing hair away from his face. Someone needed to look after him, if he wouldn't do it himself. "Can we wait a few moments? If we move now, he'll wake back up."

Silence stretched. Across the makeshift campsite, Alicia watched on with a scowl, almost a glare, directed at Ramza.

Eventually Agrias sighed, then squatted on her heels. The moonless starlight left her face a collection of cool marble shadows. "Fine. But remember that there are other wounded here. He's not the only one who needs attention."

Rafa slid her gaze sideways to meet the other woman's, then without a word focused back on Ramza. Fingertips on the rough bandages over his face, on the sandy stubble lining his jaw.

"Fine," muttered Agrias again, holding up her hands in a gesture of placation. "Of course you know that. I just... yeah. We'll give him five minutes."

Rafa nodded. Agrias stood upright and, after a moment, left.

* * *

Rofel stood among the deep shadows atop a stony cliff over Bethla, staring down at the settling chaos below. Thousands of dead, surely tens of thousands, just in one day. Armies and powers shattered like ships against coastal rocks. A nation devastated, brought to its knees as its left and right arms tore each other apart in a frenzy of shortsighted bloodlust.

He smiled.

But all was not ideal. The plan required death, savage orgies of death, enough to blot out the sky with vultures, to drown the fields with blood, and some of those deaths had to belong to some unfortunate individuals. Unfortunate because they had other uses. Of those allowed to survive, the pool of available tools was shallow and bitter.

At the thought he turned his attention to the stone in his hand. Even in the ethereal starlight it glittered as though unable to conceal some inner illumination of its own.

Capricorn was lonely. It needed a home.

Not just anyone would do; Capricorn, like the others, was choosy. It had conditions, standards. A healthy body. The will to power. A certain philosophical flexibility. Or, failing those, the most dangerous of weaknesses: trust. Trust of the stone's giver.

Not just any home was suitable.

Without expression he tucked Capricorn back into his coat, then stepped between the threads of reality to another place. Perhaps one of the others would have a worthwhile suggestion.


	11. One Foot in the Heavens

_Open your eyes  
See all the love in me  
I've got enough forever  
Don't be afraid  
Take all you need from me  
And we'll be strong together_  
-- DJ Brisk & DJ Trixxy, "Eye Opener"

Chapter Eleven: One Foot in the Heavens

Ramza awoke with a start. It was daytime -- morning -- and the sky had turned somewhat cloudy, islands of puffy white drifting along a sea of blue overhead. His head was resting on something soft, maybe a folded-up cloak. Not Rafa's legs, this time. Had that actually happened? The memory was foggy, just her sad smile and dark pools of eyes staring down at him in the night. _Maybe I dreamed it._

Frowning, he threw aside his blankets, then sat up and glanced around. They were camped on another hilltop, a broad space some twenty paces by forty and bordered by rather steep drops; more distant peaks, dotted with rocks and dappled with cloud-shadows, rose in the hazy distance in every direction. Agrias, standing a half-dozen paces away and chatting with Jasmine, gave him an odd look, prompting the spellcaster to turn and offer him a weary smile. Vector stood a short distance past them, adjusting the new ninja edges hanging from his waist, while past him sat Rafa and Alicia apparently trying to fix a chocobo saddle.

"You're up," noted Agrias, nodding, drawing every other eye to him. "Good." Still she was studying him strangely, her expression unreadable.

Ramza stared back at her, then shifted his gaze to include everyone else present. Alicia was glaring at him more fiercely than normal, Rafa watching him with wide, expressionless doe-eyes, and Vector staring at his left arm.

_Oh. Oh yeah._ Swallowing, Ramza glanced down at the limb in question. Someone had rolled his sleeve up to the elbow to expose his arm, or what remained of it. Halfway between his elbow and wrist it just... ended. No wound, just smooth skin. Pinkish, like scar tissue. _Forgot about that._

Shaking his head, he glanced back up at everyone else, only to find them still uncomfortable. _Oh, for... if that's not it, what is it?_ "What?" Scowling, he climbed to his feet.

Agrias' golden eyebrows twitched together. "Two things. First, Lavian and Knox are dead." Ice-blue eyes regarded him flatly, without blinking.

He hesitated, seeing confirmation written in every other pair of eyes in the group. "How?"

"They fought Vormav to give everyone else time to escape. They knew how it would end."

Ramza shook his head, shuffling closer to where the Holy Knight and Jasmine stood. "What's the second thing?" As he spoke, something about his face seemed stiff; a moment of fumbling with his remaining fingers revealed what had to be a scar angling down over the bridge of his nose, onto his cheek. _Right. He cut me there too._

"We killed Kletian and Izlude." Without looking, Agrias reached into her coat to pull out a glittering gemstone, then tossed it to him. "Izlude had this."

He caught the thing, already certain what it was, and the Pisces crest served only to confirm his guess. A deep, beautiful blue, like sapphire and water.

After a moment he tossed it back to her, shaking his head once more. _We lost two people and got another stone. What do you even say to that? Sorry? Next time we'll try to make sure only one person dies? Who will it be, though? Jasmine? Rafa? Maybe me._

When he said nothing, a vague rustle of activity washed through the hilltop as everyone went back to what they were doing, though he could feel Rafa's eyes on him. Would she be mad? Did she hate him now? Probably not; she hadn't known either of the deceased all that well, and didn't strike him as particularly judgemental. Not if she didn't hate him already for killing Malak. Scowling at the ground, he bent to roll his blankets back up.

Soon, however, brisk footsteps hissed through the grass towards him. He paused, knowing both who and what was coming, but taking a moment to turn to face her. "What?"

Alicia glared up at him from less than a pace away, teeth bared. Her eyes, a liquid brown, were narrowed with menace but also welling with tears. She had a scar too, now, a jagged pink line stretching down one temple to her jaw. Oddly, it made her hair seem even redder.

It didn't slow her down, though. If anything, her punches were getting faster. Harder.

Shaking his head to clear the stars, Ramza spat blood into the grass and checked for any loose or missing teeth. Finding none, he turned only his head to gaze up at her from where he knelt.

"Lavian is dead because of you," she whispered, swallowing. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, one running almost parallel to the new scar, and as she spoke she wrapped both arms tightly around her middle as though cold. "Knox is dead. Your plan got my friends killed. What do you have to say to that?"

Ignoring Alicia's angry sniffling, Ramza shifted his gaze to where Agrias was watching the confrontation with a weary, bland expression. "You were right," he told her, hearing his words come out flat, uninflected. Dead. "You said Vormav would be hard, and you were right. You're always right. I guess I need to listen to you more often."

Agrias rubbed a hand over her face, then shrugged. "Let's... just get moving, okay? We're out of potions, and almost out of food."

With a twist of his lips he nodded, then glanced back up to Alicia, who was still glaring at him through her tears. Planting hands against the ground, he pushed himself to his feet and faced her again. "Do you need another one?" The entire left half of his face throbbed after her first strike, but if it would take two or more before she felt better, then that was what it would take.

Surprisingly she bit back a sob at this, as though his words caused her even greater injury. Before he could do more than blink, she whirled and strode off to the edge of the hilltop, where she simply stood and shook, staring off over the distant valleys.

Ramza gazed after her for a moment, then turned his back on her, put her out of his mind. _Not like she wants a hug, is it?_ Tying his belongings together with only one hand, he discovered, was something of a chore.

In moments everyone was packed and moving. Jasmine and Vector rode the two chocobos Agrias had stolen from the Shrine Knights; the priestess tried to get him to ride one instead but he didn't even acknowledge her when she brought it up. Travel proceeded in a dark silence, or if there was any speaking, he didn't hear it, lost as he was in angry retrospection over the plan and the battle that had killed two of his people.

That night, as Vector handed out travel rations and everyone else settled in to their minimal camp, Ramza strode some fifty paces away, through silvery moon-shadows and over rocky soil, and sat. Sat and stared off into the night, at the dark and unpopulated hills visible for miles around. Somewhere in the vast and empty distance, a bird's call echoed and faded.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his face into his fist. Knox had had younger sisters. How to explain it to them? That his oh-so-bold-and-clever plan had gotten their only brother killed by a demon?

Behind him, the breeze sighed among weeds and stubborn grass. "How are you feeling?"

He shook his head without opening his eyes. _Every time I go somewhere alone, it's like asking her to follow me, isn't it?_

When he didn't answer, clothes whispered together as Rafa claimed a seat beside him on the hilltop. "Aren't you going to eat anything?"

"I'm not hungry." Letting his arm drop, he lifted his head and gazed back out over the night-cloaked world.

Silence met this reply; she probably didn't believe him, but chose to make nothing of it. Above, a shooting star flashed silently across the sky, a diamond-scratch of white against the black, before disappearing as quickly as it had come.

"Ramza...." Gentle fingers touched his knee. "You're trying too hard."

His jaw clenched of its own accord, and he turned to scowl at her, but she just stared back at him, patient, waiting, with dark eyes like caves of shadow. Her pale hood and garments caught the moonlight but seemed somehow muted in their glow. Of course; an assassin wouldn't want to stand out in the night.

After a moment he gave his shoulders an irritated roll and tore his gaze from hers. "You think I should try less hard? How would that help?"

Fingers slid along wool until her whole hand was resting on his knee. "It's okay to make mistakes. You learn from them, so that you're smarter and stronger for the next time."

"I don't fault myself for making mistakes," he muttered. "I fault myself for making _preventable_ mistakes." The wind swirled again; below, trees danced, vague shadowy shapes shifting in the thin moonlight.

"So what would you have done differently?"

He shook his head, suppressing a sigh. Her hand squeezed his knee once, then retreated. From somewhere behind them came Agrias' drifting voice, her words lost to the breeze as she spoke to the others.

When Rafa didn't say anything further, he shook his head again. "I've never seen Alicia so upset, and I piss her off all the time."

"She'll get by," came the Heaven Knight's soft reply. "She's a soldier, like Knox and Lavian were. They all know what they stand to lose, every time they go into battle. They accept the risks, or they wouldn't be doing it."

His lips curled back from his teeth. "I'm surprised to hear you say that. It seems... cold."

"I'm an assassin, Ramza. Like you."

"No, not like me."

"Yes. Like you." Her voice was gentle, not accusatory at all. Fingers alighted on his knee once more, a brief touch, before disappearing. "What you do in life is you target people and kill them. I know how it is. My hands are black with blood, like yours." She paused. "It's okay. Just keep in mind that the people you travel with are as determined as you are. Remember your fallen friends, but you do them a disservice by beating yourself up over them. They wouldn't want you to."

_Too much talking._ He shifted, jerking his knee farther away from her even though she was no longer touching him. "Is that how you treated Malak's death?"

Her breath caught; a quick sideways glance showed her biting her lips, ducking her head as her hands squeezed together in her lap. When she spoke again, her voice was lower, hoarse. "No. He... no."

He grimaced, rubbing his forehead. _I said that just to hurt her. What the hell is wrong with me? _"Rafa... you... should go. You don't want to talk to me."

She sniffled, scrubbing the back of one hand almost daintily against her pert nose. Then she nodded quickly, rippling the waves of dark hair spilling from her hood. Planting hands against the hard ground, she pushed herself to her feet and crouched to grip his shoulder. "I understand." And then she was gone, ghosting back to the others.

Ramza swallowed and stared at the ground where she'd been sitting. She'd been upset... but not at him. And unless his guess was wildly wrong, she "understood" exactly why he'd told her to leave. _She sees too much. Too deeply._ His hand clenched into a frustrated fist for a moment before he could relax it.

Some time later he climbed back to his feet, then turned and made his way towards everyone else. They hadn't made a fire -- too much risk of Vormav finding them, if he was even following them, which he doubted -- so shadows lay thick over the rocky hilltop. Shadows and pale moonlight, illuminating only what was already white or silver.

Five pairs of eyes swung his way as he shuffled to a halt at the edge of the campsite. "I want to talk to Delita again."

Agrias frowned at him from where she sat beside Alicia. "Why?"

"He mentioned last time I talked to him that he'd worked for the Church. For the Shrine Knights." Ramza paused, thinking back, then shrugged. "He must know things. Like who might have the other stones."

Alicia's dark eyes narrowed. "That's a good idea. Why didn't you say that before we fought Vormav?"

He shifted his gaze to her, feeling a vague frown steal over his features as breeze whispered through the short grass all around. "Because I didn't think of it. Same as you. Understand?"

She swallowed, then tore her gaze away with a twist of her lips. Curly red hair bounced with the gesture.

He watched her a moment longer, then turned his attention to everyone else, meeting every other pair of eyes but Rafa's. "If no one has any problems with that, I'm going to sleep."

* * *

"The High Priest is aghast at this needless bloodshed. He would be most pleased if you would hear his terms for the peace settlement he proposes."

Delita lifted his eyebrows, then scratched an itch on his cheek. He and the Church mediator, a greying fellow called Marlowe, sat in Goltana's study. Now his own study. Stark and hard-lined like the rest of Bethla Garrison, the room was the largest around, some twelve paces square. More than big enough to feel empty with only a polished oak desk and a handful of matching chairs in it. There had been banners on the walls a week ago, dozens of captured standards representing every faded color of the rainbow, but he'd had them torn down. Ivalice had no use for men drifting along on the momentum of past victories.

As the silence stretched and the mediator opened his mouth to speak again, Delita grunted and leaned back in his chair. "You know... I have to tell you I'm not really interested."

Marlowe's mouth compressed into a thin line for just a blink before his glittering smile came back. With waves of salt-and-pepper hair and a face as stubbled as it was rugged, he looked like the sort of man designed to set every woman's heart aflutter. "Are you sure you cannot be convinced?" His voice was a soothing, hypnotic bass. "Certainly your own men would thank you if this fighting could be--"

Delita snorted and the mediator cut off with a frown. _My men? They'd be angry I didn't press the advantage and end the war._ Flowing to his feet, he adjusted the scabbarded blade on his waist. "We're done here, Marlowe. Enjoy your trip back to Murond." Without a second glance he strode for the door.

The other man leapt to his feet, then slid to catch his wrist. "I beg of you, General. Please hear our terms. Surely it can't hurt you just to listen for...."

Delita froze, eyeing the mediator's hand, then glancing up to his face without expression.

Marlowe snatched his hand back to his chest, then swallowed. "My... my apologies. But are you certain I can't have just a moment more of your time?"

"I already told you you're going back to Murond," he murmured, stepping closer to the other man, maintaining eye contact. "You can choose whether you go by ship or by casket."

The mediator swallowed again, then offered a minimal bow, little more than a dip of his head. "As you wish. I shall convey your response to the High Priest."

Delita turned and was already out into the hallway as the man finished speaking. A pair of Nanten guards stepped away from the wall to follow without a word as he strode through his garrison. _A peace settlement? Funeral's plan to gut our leadership failed, but he's still trying to play it out? And thinks it might work?_ He shook his head. _Zalbag and the Hokuten are done. Out of the game. Ruvelia is locked up downstairs. I'm the only threat to the Church's plan. They should be sending assassins, not mediators, to stop me._

His lips curved of their own accord, but only for a moment. Unforgiving stone hallways echoed his footsteps back to him.

He found his sister and Ovelia where he'd left them just moments before, in the garrison's cramped excuse for a courtyard. With little but golden stone and a handful of the hardy flowers that could grow in this arid region, the space could just as easily serve as a place to drill soldiers as it could a retreat.

As his boots scraped out onto the weathered courtyard surface, the two women spun to face him, swirling their dresses, and both smiled. One smile pale and sunny, the other dark and gentle.

He smiled as well, then swept a bow on reaching them. "I'd heard there were beautiful flowers in the courtyard, but nobody told me there were plants too."

"Cut it out," grinned Teta, as Ovelia smiled at her slippers. "How did your meeting go?"

Stepping forward, he slid an arm around each woman's shoulders and directed them gently towards the courtyard's fountain, though now the thing was little more than a shallow empty pool four paces across. "Quickly enough. I met with their emissary long enough to reject his offer to read me the High Priest's terms, and then sent him on his way."

Teta, beside him, made a disappointed sound. "You didn't even listen to what he had to say? Why did you meet with him at all, then?"

He turned a wounded frown on her. "I didn't want to be rude."

"Oh, I'm sure."

"Delita?" Ovelia's voice was soft on his other side.

"Hmm?"

She ducked her head, perhaps embarrassed to speak up, and golden hair spilled past her shoulders with the movement. This close, he could make out faint pink spots decorating her pale cheeks. "Is... everything is going well, then? You don't foresee any more problems?"

Shuffling to a halt before the fountain, he extracted his arms to grip her hands in his own. "No more problems. Or if there are any, there won't be any we can't handle. The hardest parts are over; all that remains now is the endgame. The cleanup."

The princess smiled again, then glanced up to meet his gaze with an obvious effort. Though the smile remained, her dark eyes carried a note of question. "You always talk about this like it's a game."

"It's more fun to play games."

"I... I'm serious. This is--"

"Don't worry," he assured her, squeezing her hands once. "I'm not...." He trailed off, aware of his sister's careful scrutiny without even having to glance her way. With a sigh he let his eyes slide shut, and his hands tightened of their own accord on the future queen's. "I'm serious too, Ovelia." He kept his voice quiet, almost gentle, a tone he seldom used anymore. "I might talk like that, but this is all deadly serious to me. I don't play around."

Her own fingers curled in his hands, gripping him back. "Are you serious with me? What happens to me when we win?"

He snapped his eyes back open and stared into her own, hoping to convey his sincerity through sheer force of will; her fingers trembled at his directness. "When we win, you'll be the Queen. If you want, I'll be there too. No one will have power over you again. No one will use you, or threaten you."

She swallowed, and a concerned crease formed in her forehead. "But you... _you've_ used me. _You've_ threatened me."

"Yes." _No lying. Not to her._ "I had to. I'd do it all over again, too, if it was the only way to get you to this point, a step away from the throne. That's the kind of man I am." He paused, waiting for his meaning to set in, watching as her frown faded to an expression of thought. "Is that so bad? Are those unforgivable faults?"

The princess averted her gaze, and a nervous smile touched her lips. "No. Not if I can trust you."

"Ovelia." He waited again, until her eyes slid to meet his own. "I would die before betraying you. You don't ever, _ever,_ need to worry about that." His own smile was long gone; as he'd told her, he was deadly serious.

She exhaled, slumping, like some permanent tension inside her body had suddenly vanished. And then her arms were around him, her forehead buried against the armored plates over his chest. Long strands of golden hair slowly floated back into place after her sudden movement.

He hesitated only a moment before returning the hug. She was slim in his arms. Fragile.

Moments later, a throat cleared. "This is... very touching and all," murmured Teta, "but there is a third person here, you know."

Delita smiled. _Not for long._ Shifting his hands to Ovelia's shoulders, he pushed her back just far enough to lean in and kiss her.

She froze, fingers curling into fists against his chest, but managed to recover much more quickly than he'd been expecting. Willowy arms wrapped around his neck, pulled him closer; her lips were alive against his own, her shallow breath hot on his cheek.

"Oh, for God's sake," muttered Teta. "I'll see you guys at dinner."

* * *

Ruvelia Atkascha, Sovereign of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of Ivalice, hated darkness.

Hated it. It was strange, threatening. Cold. She hated it.

There had always been light before this. Candlelight. Lamplight. Starlight filtering in through gossamer curtains to leave a ghostly glow on marble floors. Even sunlight was acceptable, for all that her skin didn't care for it.

Underground there was no light.

No sound, either, just an absolute blanket of silence punctuated only by the fluid and irregular thumping of her heart. The staccato rasp of her breath. Sound, she could take or leave -- or make -- but the absence of light was a crime. Closing her eyes and opening them, only to find no difference in the blackness... it was suffocating. Intolerable. A smothering pillow over her gasping mouth, stealing her breath.

"I hate you!" she shouted at nothing, at anything. "Do you hear me? I hate you! No one can do this to me! I'm the _Queen!_" Peeling lips back from her teeth, she lunged for where the darkness hid the door. Lunged and stopped on her knees, with a metallic rattle; heavy manacles dug into the worn and corrupted wounds on her wrists, wounds caused by too much of this in the countless years of her unlawful imprisonment. "I _order_ you to free me! Anyone who hears this and doesn't obey will die a gruesome death! Violated by red-hot irons while you drown in _maggots!_ Is that what you want? If not, get me the _fuck_ out of here!"

As nothing but her own hoarse and cracked voice echoed back to her, she slumped, letting the manacles hold her upright. "Dark," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. Despite her efforts, warm liquid leaked from them, trailing down her cheeks. "It's so d... I can't even see. Please." Shivers stole over her limbs as they sometimes did, making her arms quiver, her teeth chatter.

Nobody came. Nobody helped. If there was a God, he enjoyed watching her suffer. More tears flowed down her cheeks, quickly growing cool in the subterranean air.

She'd half-expected the Nanten to torture her. Bind her, stretch her, rape her, stick needles in tender places, whatever. She could take it; they couldn't hurt her face, her beauty, so the effects wouldn't last.

But they hadn't touched her. They'd locked her down here, still in her clothes, and hadn't touched a thing but her mind.

"I'm the Queen," she whispered. Swallowing, she strained at the manacles, pulling herself to her feet. "The Queen. I'm the most important person down here, the most important person anywhere, and they can't even be bothered to torture me? Question me? All I get is this... stale food and... the water tastes like it came from... like... just like any other prisoner would get? Doesn't anybody...."

Abruptly iron scraped against stone, and a rectangle of light opened across the cell. She hissed, stumbling and crouching back, holding up a hand to protect her eyes from that precious, precious light. _Time to feed me again. Water me. Like I'm a fucking animal._

Slow footsteps approached, making barely a whisper on the mildew-coated floor. "Ruvelia." A man's deep voice. Steely.

She tensed, calculating the prison keeper's position by hearing alone. After he dropped off the food or whatever it was, she could... her teeth could rip through his throat, if she could reach that far. Make somebody else suffer for once. He'd deserve it too, deserve that and whatever else she chose to inflict on him while he choked on his own--

"You look like a dead whore, Ruvelia. Have they been treating you well?"

"What?" Swallowing past a rusty throat, she spread her fingers apart, just enough to squint between them. The man standing two paces away was, slender, of moderate height. Armored, too. With the light behind him she could just barely make out the colors, but the armor looked... gold? And robes, and a hood. Blue? Green? "A Shrine Knight?"

Rather than answer, the man squatted on his heels in front of her. Whatever his face was under the hood, she couldn't make it out at all. "It's Rofel. You don't know me."

She snarled at him. "It was _you!_ The Church! It's your fault I'm here! If you hadn't let Goltana's stupid troops take me from--"

"Goltana's dead, Ruvelia. Delita Hyral commands the Nanten now, and Ovelia. He was the brains behind Goltana's whole plan, and he's more dangerous to you than Goltana ever was. Would you like the chance to strike back at him?"

Ruvelia summoned a laugh. "Why the hell should I trust your kind? You stabbed me in the back once already. And do you have any fucking _idea_ how long I've been down here? _Years_. I don't even--"

"Fifty-one days."

"--even... wait, what?"

Rofel sighed. "You were captured fifty-one days ago."

She eyed him sideways, cautiously. Was he lying? Surely it had been longer. Though her eyes had grown accustomed to the light, she could still make out nothing of his shadowed features, nothing to show of any deception on his part.

"Although," he continued, "I understand it hasn't been pleasant here. How thoughtless to treat one of royal blood so. But God uses suffering to prepare the soul for greatness."

She sneered. "Greatness? I'm already great."

By way of answer Rofel pulled out a stone from his pocket. A gem. Green, a deep green, and glittering. "Do you want out of here?"

She licked her lips, for some reason unable to pull her eyes from the gemstone. "What do you want in return?"

* * *

A week of travel. Hills, flatlands, desert, cities. Battles, too. The missing hand gave him trouble until Vector had a leatherworker in Dorter come up with a solution, a thing of straps and buckles. A way to affix a dagger to what remained of his left arm. It was hardly elegant, and didn't make much sense with the monk fighting style, but it was better than nothing.

They heard of nothing but the battle on the way to Bethla. Not even in inns, either; people went out of their way to accost them on the street just to ask if they'd heard about the battle at Bethla Garrison. A million dead, they claimed, which meant probably less than a hundred thousand. Ramza had kept his face down during these conversations, let Agrias or Jasmine brush off the rumormongers. Rafa simply stood next to him without saying anything.

Dycedarg was dead. They thought he cared. He didn't bother explaining, and to her credit, Rafa didn't ask.

Dycedarg, dead. Larg dead, Goltana dead, Delita running the Nanten. Zalbag commanding the remains of the Hokuten. Strange to think that if Alma hadn't died, if he hadn't run off, he'd be commanding divisions of soldiers now, under Zalbag.

Bethla still reeked of death, a week after the battle. Even after crystallization, a hundred thousand dead would do that, just from the blood. Jasmine's face scrunched up in sick dismay over the smell, and Vector wore a constant grimace. Ramza didn't wear his distaste on his face but didn't breathe too deeply either. Above, razor-thin cloud waves hung etched onto the bone-dry sky.

The guards at the garrison's north gate gaped at him. "Wha... who... who are you?" managed one, a thick-set man gripping his sword hilt with white knuckles.

Ramza let his eyes narrow in impatience; the man had to have recognized him, or else he wouldn't have reacted with such a panic. "Ramza Beoulve. I'm here to see Delita Hyral."

"But... but you're a...."

"A heretic. If you don't plan to collect the bounty yourself, I suggest you tell Delita I'm here, or I'll do it myself."

The guard shook himself, then scowled. "Just hang on. Rosa!"

"Right." A skinny archer gave Ramza a hard look, then turned and bounded into the keep.

Outside, Ramza crossed his arms and waited.

* * *

"Sir! There's news!"

Delita rolled his eyes. "Trevor, you don't have to tell me there's news. You can just tell me what the news _is._" He stood in his study, with his back to the door, poring over a collection of maps by the flickering light of a single bronze lantern. Maps of Lesalia.

"Yes, sir. Ruvelia's gone, sir."

He blinked at this, then spun to face Trevor so quickly the man backed away a step, into the hallway. "Gone? How?"

The squire swallowed, then edged back into the room. "She... the guards are all dead, sir, except for one man who was only knocked out. He says he saw a Shrine Knight just before it happened. Cosmos is on her way with the full report."

Delita grunted and turned back to his maps, thinking. Without doubt the attackers had left the one surviving guard alive on purpose, just to rub salt in the wound. They probably weren't happy with his decision to ruin their plan for the battle. "Okay. You can go."

"Is... uh, is that all, sir?"

"I said you can go."

"Very well, sir." The door closed with a soft click.

Delita clenched a helpless fist as he studied the lines of ink on the yellowing paper before him. Hills. There were hills around the castle at Lesalia. Close enough for siege weapons? Would it even matter? With a solid but not overpowering advantage in numbers, he'd probably have to starve them out, or else weaken their defenses from the inside if Olan could manage it. But in either case he'd have to accelerate his schedule. Ruvelia by herself couldn't do much in Lesalia -- the Hokuten needed an extra forty thousand soldiers or so, not a woman in a dress -- but who knew what else the Shrine Knights were planning.

Another knock sounded from the door, disrupting his concentration.

He scowled at the maps but cleared the expression in an instant. "Come."

The door clicked open again, allowing a faint swirl of air and distant conversation to drift inside. "Sir," came Cosmos' girlish voice. "You must've heard already, but something else just came up."

Sighing, he turned around and planted hands on the desk behind him. "What is it?"

Cosmos gave her lips a twist. She was one of Olan's people, a "specialist," and her cold green-eyed stare made her high voice seem out-of-place. "The heretic Ramza Beoulve is here to see you."

He paused, lips thinning. Ramza, and the disappearance of Ruvelia. A coincidence? _It has to be. Ramza would open his wrists before doing something to help the royalty now._ "Send him in."

* * *

Teta ducked into the courtyard and squinted against the midmorning sunlight. Her brother stood only a short distance away, by the empty fountain pool, and he waved a hand in greeting on spotting her. She smiled, then gripped her dress in both hands and hurried towards him.

"How are your studies faring?" he asked as she drew near. Sunlight slanted across his face, leaving his eyes clear and hard.

"Fine," she murmured, throwing him a frown. "But Master Albert was annoyed that you summoned me away from his lesson again. What is it?"

"Ramza's here."

"Oh!" She blinked, then grinned. "Why?"

Delita shrugged, shifting his gaze to the shadowed hallway from which she'd just emerged. "Not sure. We'll find out in a moment."

Teta nodded, following his gaze. "Where's Ovelia?"

"She's afraid of him. I didn't want to put her through it."

"Oh."

"Mmm."

Clearing a frown, Teta chewed a lip as she watched the doorway. Watched and waited. It had been months since she'd last seen Ramza, since he'd showed up out of the blue in Zeltennia. _Has he gotten any better? I wonder._

In moments, sooner than she expected, two figures stepped out of the shade and into the courtyard. Ramza and a woman, though Teta found her attention drawn to her childhood friend. He looked, if anything, even more grim than he had before. He was lean now, almost gaunt; what little bare skin he left exposed had tanned deeply, and looked stretched taut over his muscles, with all the fat boiled away. His face lacked expression and was badly scarred besides, with the ghost of a pale gash jagging between his eyes and onto one cheek. Part of his left arm was gone, and now some contraption had been strapped to what remained in order to hold a gleaming dagger there instead. But was alarmed her most was his eyes. Dead, hollow eyes, empty even of grief; when they flickered to her, under her scrutiny, she could see no recognition in them at all. No flicker of life. _Oh, Ramza._

The white-clad woman with him, in contrast, smiled warmly as they approached. She stood a hand shorter than him and was beautiful besides, with honey-colored skin, full lips and a lithe natural grace that somehow made her _flow _rather than _walk_. She carried no weapon but a slim staff, taller than her, with regions worn smooth where her hands would likely rest in combat.

"Ramza," greeted Delita when the newcomers shuffled to a halt. "Good to see you again."

Ramza nodded once, then gestured with the dagger to the woman at his side. "This is Rafa."

Delita bared his teeth in a glittering smile as he studied Rafa. "Delighted."

Teta ducked her head, murmuring an appropriate greeting, though her attention was on her brother. She knew him well enough to be surprised at his reaction. That smile wasn't him flirting; he was _wary._

"I know you're busy," began Ramza in a flat tone, "so I'll be brief. You'll control all of Ivalice soon, and Ovelia will be the Queen. The Church has been playing the Hokuten and the Nanten against each other, and now that you've won, they'll want to cut you to make sure they're still needed. They're probably desperate to get you out of their way." He paused. "Now, I hate the Church. I want to destroy it, or at least kill all the people using Zodiac stones to stir up conflict. The Church who wants you dead claims ownership of the stones."

Delita's dark eyes narrowed in consideration. "Go on."

Ramza nodded. "You once told me you were working with the Church, or the Shrine Knights. I want to know what you know: who has the stones. Give me what I want, and I'll clean up the people who are after you."

Delita gave his lips a twist. "They didn't exactly share that information with me."

Ramza didn't even blink. "But you still know it." Beside him, Rafa's eyes flickered between the two men, following the conversation.

Laughing, Delita nodded. "Not personally, but there are... sources I can tap. I can get you your information, but it won't be right away. Tomorrow sometime, I would think."

"Good."

"In the meantime," continued Delita, spreading his hands, "you should stay here. I won't have much time to socialize, but you and your people can have rooms here. Maybe relax a little. Looks like you could use it."

"I'm fine, but I'll take the rooms anyway." Ramza gave his head a slow shake. "I suppose I should offer you early congratulations on taking the crown. You will be the new king, won't you? I'm assuming you've made sure of that."

Delita smiled, but his eyes stared inward. "I'm leaving that up to Ovelia."

"Right. Anyway, congratulations."

Teta studied her brother, frowning. There was a detail he'd left out so far, something Ramza would want to know if he was offering such an arrangement. "Delita."

He shifted his gaze to her, dark eyes guarded, defensive, forehead creased in a scowl. After a moment he sighed and shifted his attention back to Ramza. "There is... one more thing. Ruvelia's gone missing."

Ramza blinked. "The Queen?"

"That's her. She's escaped."

Silence fell for a moment as the two men locked gazes, but eventually Ramza shrugged. "I don't suppose it'll matter in the long run."

"No, probably not."

Ramza nodded, then turned to go. Rafa, beside him, smiled at the sun-washed stones under her boots and made as if to follow.

Teta darted forward, laying a hand on her friend's arm. "Ramza?"

He paused, then shuffled about to face her. Eyes like scuffed bronze regarded her, hooded and expressionless.

She swallowed, then smiled. "Like Delita says, he's busy a lot. So while you're here we should talk. Catch up. Don't you think?"

His gaze slid away from hers. "Sure."

"Okay." _He doesn't want to, does he?_ She kept the smile up regardless. "You know, we've heard so much about you here. Nobody who knows you believes the awful things the Church is saying about you, so disregarding all of that... it seems like you've accomplished a lot. I think Alma would be proud of you."

Ramza's shoulders slumped at this; his eyes squeezed shut and he drew a ragged breath. "I... don't think she would, Teta. There's a lot you haven't seen about the world, I think. I hope you stay that way."

Confused, she released his arm, stared after him as he and Rafa made for the courtyard doorway. _What's happened to him?_

Delita edged closer to where she stood. "You may just want to let it go," he murmured. "He won't want to chat over tea."

"I... guess not." Shaking her head, she watched until Ramza had disappeared into the Garrison, then directed a concerned frown at her brother. "Are you really going to help him?"

He blinked, apparently taken aback. "Of course. Some of his premises are wrong, but he's basically right, and someone needs to do what he's doing." Pausing, he thinned his lips. "I need to talk to Balmafula, though."

Teta felt herself scowling. "You be careful around that woman. I don't tru--"

"Oh, relax," laughed Delita, patting her shoulder as he strode past her, towards the doorway. "Balmafula does what I want."

As he, too, disappeared into the keep's interior, Teta sighed. _That's what I'm worried about._

* * *

It was late. Late enough that the keep's hallways were empty of all but the distant whisper of broom-wielding servants. The gentle hiss of flames dancing in the lamps casting cheery illumination through unpeopled corridors.

Rafa paused outside the room given to Ramza. Paused and squatted to listen to the crack under the door, taking care to make sure her shadow didn't fall there to alert him to someone's presence outside. From within she could hear... silence. No, breathing. Very faint. Regular, too; was he sleeping?

A distant voice pulled her head up, tugged narrowed eyes towards the nearest corner in the hallway. A man's voice, but... not getting any closer. Probably one of the servants.

Nodding, she bent back down to listen. Her trainers had been as exotic as they'd been complete. For a whole summer, once, she'd fought blindfolded and suffered countless bruises and worse, until she could gauge her enemy's position by hearing alone. A handy skill, it was, for a--

_There._ A tight, frustrated sigh from within the room. _He's awake._

Straightening, she tapped softly on the door. "Ramza? It's Rafa."

No response.

She ducked her head, toeing at the floor. "I know you're awake. Can I come in?" She kept her voice low, loud enough to carry into his room but hopefully none of the others nearby. Although she didn't care if any of their companions found out they'd met at this hour, he might.

"Yeah, I suppose." A mutter from within, muffled by the door.

Lips thinned, she lifted the latch, careful not to make noise, and slipped inside. In the moment of light before she closed the door again, she spotted him seated on the edge of his bed, head hanging; he'd removed the knife-frame from his bad arm and set it on a nearby birch nightstand. Once darkness fell again she shuffled over the square-patterned floor rug to stand before him, facing him. "I noticed something today."

"Hmm."

"It actually hurts you to hear praise, doesn't it?" she whispered. "Especially if it involves Alma."

"Rafa...." He swallowed audibly. "What are... why are you talking about this?"

"Don't worry," she assured him. "I'm not going to say anything nice about you. I understand."

He sighed again. "Okay. Good."

She nodded, though he couldn't see it, and folded herself up on the rug. She said nothing, only reached out to touch his dangling leg.

Some time later, clothes whispered as he shifted about. "It's just... people don't know. They don't get it. Anyone who thinks well of me just doesn't know me well enough."

"That's not true, Ramza." She frowned, considering her words, while her thumb rubbed soothing circles into his shin. "People just have different ways of judging what they see. What one person sees as a monster, another might see as... someone too honest to wear the mask of humanity others wear. Someone too trustworthy to put up a front, and who therefore can never betray."

Long moments passed before he spoke again. "What do you want?" He was barely even whispering now; she had to strain to pick out his words.

She hesitated, then let her hand drop from his leg. "I think you know, and I'm not going to hide it. So I think a better question is, what do _you_ want?"

"Nothing. I don't.... Look, I don't want to talk about it."

She tilted her head. "You trust me. I know you trust me. Do you really think I'm going to hurt you?"

"Hurt _me?_ No. I just... I don't know. You should just... you should go, I think."

_You should go._ Just like what he'd told her earlier, after throwing the Malak event in her face. He wasn't worried about himself at all; he never worried about himself. _I see._ "Ramza... think about what you know of me." She paused, waiting, and he didn't interrupt. "How do you think you're going to hurt me more than I've already been hurt?"

"No, it's... it's not even... well, not only that." He sighed. "You have so much to... I mean, you don't need me dragging you down. Somebody else, anybody else, would be a better... I don't know. Just go. Please."

_Oh, that's how it is? Of course. I get it._ Climbing to her feet, she shuffled forward and pulled his head to her stomach, combed gentle fingers through his hair. "It's not a matter of somebody being 'better' or 'worse,' Ramza," she murmured. "It's not a matter of anybody deserving anything. What you're thinking of, what I'm here for... it isn't some kind of prize. And sometimes...." She hesitated, swallowing past a lump in her throat. "Sometimes it's actually a theft, not a gift at all."

He shook, actually started to tremble, and lifted an arm; his good hand came to rest on her hip, then paused there, seemingly uncertain. "I don't understand you, Rafa. I don't see how you can be this way, after all you've... you just... I don't get it. I don't get it at all."

"It's okay." She continued to stroke his hair, continued to press his head against her stomach. "I think you do. We understand each other, don't we? We're alike."

His shaking intensified; his fingers tightened, curling into a fist among the folds of her clothes. "No. Not like this, we're not."

"We are." Pausing, she stared down at the top of his head, barely visible in the ghostly light sneaking in under the door, and let out a long breath. "I've seen the scars, Ramza. Jasmine saw them too. Needle marks. The Church did that to you, didn't they?"

He didn't answer, only tensed further as his arm and shoulders quivered. Warm liquid leaked into the soft fabric over her stomach.

"They hurt you, Ramza." Her eyes stung as she whispered, and she had to swallow. "They hurt you so badly. But it didn't make you afraid of needles, did it? You'd still let somebody you trust use one on you if there was need, to... pluck out a sliver, or what have you. The same as anyone else. The same as _me_. Do you understand?"

He shook his head weakly, but didn't pull away from her stomach. "Please, Rafa, just... I can't...."

Taking a deep breath, she knelt down before him, gripped his stubbled face in both hands and pressed her forehead against his own. "I'm not going to hurt you," she whispered, "ever. But first I wanted you to understand, and I think you do now. So if you want me to leave, I will."

Again he shook his head, moving hers in the process. His lips parted and he drew breath to speak... but no words came.

She waited. Wide brown eyes, little more than glittering drops of shadow, stared at her almost without blinking from mere inches away. Eventually the tear-lines on his cheeks, on her hands, grew dry. His shaking slowed, then stopped altogether.

Without warning she closed her eyes and slipped her mouth to his. His lips were dry, salty from his earlier tears, and hot against her own as he pushed back, returning the kiss with authority. Her breathing grew shallow, little nervous gasps into his ear as his lips roamed down the side of her neck, and when she pushed him back, onto the bed, he didn't resist.

* * *

Rafa was still there in the morning.

Slept late, awoke in a warm tangle of blankets. Sleepy, sunny smile, shining eyes; dark hair a mess, a tangled halo on the pillow, with a few strands on her glowing face. Head pillowed on one folded arm. Fingers dancing over his bare chest and stomach, touching.

He excused himself to clean up for the day, and then didn't go back.

Bethla Garrison wasn't a palace; it was a fortress. No luxury, just utility. In the washroom near his chambers, a plain ceramic tub. A smaller washbasin under a cracked mirror showing him his own damn scarred face, haggard. Razor in one hand, forgotten as he leaned on the basin to stare himself in the eye.

He'd hurt her, in the beginning. She'd tensed, had made a face, but hadn't let him stop. Not wishing to make a scene, he'd obliged her, but her pain had still been his fault. He'd hurt her.

That wasn't what disgusted him, though. It was something else that curled his lips back from his teeth, something else that narrowed his eyes as he glared at his fractured reflection.

There were rules. No matter how low a man fell, or how hard, there were rules. The rules weren't lofty; rather, they were minimal, ensuring he stayed a step above the murderous animals plaguing Ivalice.

One of the rules was that you weren't crude. You mastered your own appetites.

He'd hurt Rafa... but more importantly, more reprehensibly, he'd _used_ her. She knew him too well, it seemed, understood all the murky principles by which his mind operated, and as such her arguments had indeed been compelling. But as much of a motive as anything she'd said had been a simple question.

What would it be like? To be with a woman?

_Well, now I know, don't I?_ Sighing, he flicked the excess water from his razor and resumed scraping it along his jaw.

When it came time to meet with Delita, he took Agrias along instead.

The man who'd kidnapped Ovelia, whose people had killed Mustadio, met him with a smile in that same courtyard from the day before. Teta was there as well, Teta and her brown eyes full of sincerity and worry; he avoided meeting her gaze. Above, puffy white clouds drifted sedately along the celestial canopy.

"Here's your list," began Delita without preamble, producing a folded square of creamy paper from under his cloak. "I didn't bother including the ones I already know you have."

Ramza strode to the fountain and swiped the thing from his friend's hand, then fumbled to unfold it while Agrias peered over his shoulder. Then he grunted, scanning the list of names. "We already got Pisces from Izlude, and... wait, Ruvelia? _Ruvelia_ has a stone?" Scowling, he glanced up.

Delita made a wry face. "She was seen in the company of a Shrine Knight, and they didn't leave through the doors. You figure it out."

Ramza shrugged, then returned his gaze to the list. "Fine. Although... what's this? Orlandu's dead. How can he have one too?" _What the hell kind of list is this?_

"No. I only faked his death so he could escape." Delita shrugged, glancing off at a bed of hardy flowers among the golden stone. "The Church wanted him dead too, of course."

"Okay." Ramza tried to fold the thing back up, then, growing frustrated, handed it off to Agrias. "You'll know when they're all dead, I guess."

"Yeah. Take care, Ramza." Delita's voice had grown quiet, and his dark eyes serious. "These are dangerous people. Elite people, like us."

Without blinking Ramza raised his crippled left arm. "I know."

After a moment Delita nodded.

Ramza nodded as well, then turned to go. Agrias hurried to catch up, muttering under her breath.

It took mere moments to gather everyone up, and he made sure to do so in Agrias' guest room rather than his own. It was nearly the same, though, just a narrow bed, a nightstand and an aged cedar chest in one corner. Six people made a rather tight fit in the modest space.

"You got the list?" began Alicia, staring at him with hard, glittering eyes. "Let's see."

He gestured to Agrias, who handed the thing over, and then everyone was crowding around the redhead. "Don't bother asking," he commanded as they read. "I already asked Delita and he confirms the items on Orlandu and Ruvelia."

"Meliadoul Tingel," mused Jasmine with a frown. "Vormav's daughter?"

Agrias nodded without taking her eyes off the list. "Yeah."

"Is she like Izlude?"

"No. Probably stronger. Older, at least, and better trained."

Jasmine nodded. "Still, she might be the easiest to handle out of all these people. I mean, the Queen? Orlandu? Not easy."

"There's no way to know where she is, though," sighed Agrias, folding arms over her chest. "She could be in Murond, or in the next room, or anywhere in between."

Alicia grunted, passing the note off to a frowning Rafa. "What about Elmdor? Limberry's not too far from here."

Vector grinned. "Definitely easier than tracking down Orlandu or Meliadoul. Or... you know, Vormav again. Which would be, um... yeah."

Ramza nodded; he'd already come to the same conclusion. "Elmdor, then. Anyone disagree?"

Silence fell. Jasmine kept trying to read the list over Rafa's shoulder despite undoubtedly having memorized it already. Agrias shrugged, pressing a fist against her mouth to stifle a yawn. Rafa, while holding the paper for Jasmine, turned wide brown eyes on him. Eyes carrying a trusting affection, a smile not echoed on her lips.

Ramza dropped his gaze to the floor. He'd hurt her and used her, but the worst part was how _happy_ she seemed about the whole thing. Like he'd done something good.

When nobody spoke, he sighed. "Okay, let's pack up and get out of here. Limberry awaits."

* * *

Meliadoul dropped a few coins into the guard's outstretched hand. "For your trouble."

The knight nodded, grimacing, and glanced over his shoulder, though the doorway behind him stood shadowed and empty. "It's no trouble at all," he muttered, turning back to her. "I thought he was going to kill me."

She frowned. "Explain."

He sucked air through his teeth, then rand a hand through his dark hair. "He just... showed up out of nowhere. Seen his face on all the posters for months, only now he's got a wicked scar on his face, and he's got a knife in place of his left hand. A knife! Like a... like an opera villain! Says to me he wants to see General Hyral, and that I should tell him, and just... just made it sound like he'd have no problems at all stepping over my corpse if that's what it would take to get inside."

Meliadoul pondered this. "I see. Is he still here?"

The guard shook his head, pausing to spare another quick glance over his shoulder. "No. Stayed less than twenty-four hours, I'd say. Left this morning, heading east, towards Dolbodar."

Dolbodar. That meant Limberry, probably. She nodded. "Is that all?"

"All I know, lady. Who are you, anyway?" He squinted, trying to peer under her hood.

She bared her teeth in a snarl he couldn't see, hidden as her face was in the thick shadows outside of Bethla. Gripping her sword hilt in one hand, she drew an inch of steel, letting starlight gleam off the weapon's milky surface. "I'm sorry; what was that?"

The guard flinched, holding up both hands. "It, um... nothing."

Nodding again, she let the weapon slide back into place. "Thank you for your time. Remember: you saw nothing."

"Right. Nothing." The man gave his head a slow shake.

Putting him out of her mind, Meliadoul turned and strode off towards where she'd hidden her mount. It would have been nice to have an entire squad with her, but this mission wasn't sanctioned by the Knights. It was personal. And in any case, killing him by herself would be more satisfying, worth the inevitable reprimand once she returned to Murond.

On reaching Gigas, she untied him and hopped into the saddle, then set off eastward, loping over flat, barren rock. _Guard yourself well, Ramza Beoulve. Don't die before I can kill you._

* * *

Two days to Limberry. It started raining while they were in the dismal Dolbodar swamp, and then never let up. Never changed, either, just a solid, steady drizzle falling straight down from the unbroken blanket of grey above, soaking everything in sight.

Two nights to Limberry. Rafa tried to sleep next to him each time and he let her. She was bold in her own quiet way, but he doubted she'd try to make moves on him while everyone else slept a few paces away. Everybody noticed their proximity, but nobody said anything. Despite that, Jasmine was clearly delighted, grinning whenever she glanced their way, and Alicia was just as clearly angry. She'd probably just intuited, without being told, how he'd treated Rafa and was devising some appropriate payback.

The guards at Limberry's gates let him pass, trying not to stare at the crippled arm. It seemed the bounty posters hadn't been updated yet.

Once inside the city, they angled into they alleys, out of sight, and quickly found an abandoned house in which to huddle while Vector scouted the castle. Ramza stood near the window, watching rain patter into mud puddles in the alley outside, while Rafa stood beside him and said nothing.

In less than an hour, a dripping-wet Vector slipped in through one of the other windows, then shook himself. "Okay," he breathed, holding both hands out. "So, the castle is just standing there open. No guards."

Ramza blinked. "Open. No sign of struggle? Forced entry?"

Vector shook his head. "None. Just looks like someone left the door open."

Ramza paused at this, then slid his eyes towards Agrias. "What do you think? Trap?"

"Trap."

He nodded. "Okay. Let's go, then."

"Whoah, wait." Alicia flowed in front of him and planted a hand on his chest, holding him in place. Narrowed brown eyes stared up at him, glittering in the dim light. "Who's going to die from _this_ stupid plan, Iceman?"

Something cold fluttered in his stomach, tingled up through his chest, but he kept the anger from his face. "They know we're here. What else would you have us do? If we wait for them to take the fight to us, other people could get caught up in it."

Her brow furrowed as though she hadn't considered this, but the hand on his chest didn't leave. "Then at least don't go in the way they're expecting."

He met her staring gaze a moment longer before nodding. "Okay. Good idea. Vector, you did a complete circuit of the castle, right?"

"Yeah."

"Any ways we can sneak in?"

The man chewed a lip but nodded. "Yeah. Lots."

Ramza shifted his attention back to Alicia. "Good."

The redhead's lips thinned and she stepped back, letting her hand drop. "You want to go now?"

Glancing sideways, to the rain falling past the windows, he frowned. "Let's wait until dark."

* * *

Celia loved having a body.

It was a bother at times, of course; it had taken her a week to get used to all the demands it made, all the "eating" and "breathing" and "getting tired" and everything, and it was _soft,_ not chitinous or scaly. And there was the fact that there were apparently two kinds of humans, males and females. When she'd asked about that, what some of the parts were for, Zalera had just laughed.

But it was that feature, that distinction, which had warmed her to the body. It afforded pleasures that simply could not be found back home. And, as she was discovering, she couldn't get enough of them.

The body did other things, too. It sweated, and it trembled, and it let out little sounds called "moans" whenever certain things were done to it. And that was what it was doing now.

She could see despite the darkness in the room where she was, but she let her eyes slide shut anyway. Threw her head back as she pressed the palms of her hands against the bare skin of her hips. The human beneath her was moving, and she moved with him, letting him set the--

_Celia._

--set the pace of... of their.... She froze, blinking away her distraction and not a small amount of irritation. Almost every time Zalera reached out in this way he interrupted her. But then, this was how she spent almost all the time she wasn't required to be with him. She and Lede had gotten very good at making humans do as they wished in this respect. _What?_

_Something is... wait, are you doing it? Again?_

Her face frowned. _What is it?_

_Something's amiss. The kid isn't approaching the way we thought he would. Find him._

_Of course._ Clearing her frown, she met Lede's expressionless gaze through the darkness. Then she climbed off the man they were using and retrieved her garments from the pile on the floor. Lede did the same thing, at the same time, like a mirror; without doubt she'd gotten the same message.

The man pushed himself up to his elbows, then frowned at the rustling sounds they made while dressing. This whole process worked better with men; for some reason most women seemed unwilling to provide them with this sort of pleasure. "What, um...." He swallowed. "Are... are you done, or...?"

"We have to go," answered Lede, tugging a long boot onto one leg.

"You've been very helpful," added Celia, fastening a series of buttons over her chest.

"But we can't have you trying to find us again," explained Lede.

Before the man could stammer another question, Celia ghosted forward and crushed his throat. That was another thing about bodies; those belonging to humans were fragile, easily broken in a process called "killing." Zalera liked it when they killed people.

Once she was dressed, she shared a glance with Lede, then willed herself between the threads, to the castle itself. Killing wasn't a pleasure for the body, but she enjoyed it nonetheless.

* * *

"There. See that window up there?"

Ramza squinted up through the rain, wiping warm water from his face as he followed Vector's pointing finger. Sure enough, there was a single window, a rectangle of glowing yellow light, easily spotted in the darkness. But there was a problem. "It's got to be at least sixty paces up, Vector."

"I know." The ninja grinned, then pulled a coil of rope from a backpack at his feet. "We climb."

"Uh, Vector...." Agrias sighed. "Not all of us are sneaky like you."

"Look." He shook the rope towards her, swaying the portion hanging groundward from his fist. "It's knotted at regular intervals. Even... even you should be able to climb it."

Blue eyes narrowed. "Watch it."

"Oh. Sorry." Vector grimaced.

Ramza watched the man a moment longer, then shifted his gaze back up, into the rain again. Sixty paces up to the window, with two different levels under it, the flat rooftops of lower castle levels. A tiered climb, then.

In moments Vector was swirling the grappling end of the rope in a lazy circle. The first upwards toss clattered across the stone roof, making everyone flinch, but latched solidly onto something unseen.

When no alarm sounded and no guards came shouting, Ramza nodded. "I'll go first."

* * *

Celia blinked to the Grand Hall, where Zalera was, and went down on one knee. "We found him."

Lede appeared next to her in the same position. "They're trying to sneak in through a window on the fourth floor."

Zalera whirled to frown at them. He was wearing his Elmdor body again, as always, a sleek and silver-haired male one. Most unlike how he really looked. "And?"

Celia exchanged a silent glance with Lede, then faced her master again. "You told us to find him."

Zalera's -- Elmdor's -- eyes narrowed at this. "Kill him. Kill him and take the stones."

She nodded, aware of Lede doing likewise, and blinked away, upwards, appearing in a square room whose only purpose appeared to be hosting the window to which the Beoulve and his companions were climbing. A place from which to view the city, perhaps. Humans liked such things.

Lede shifted into existence beside her, and then the two of them flowed to the window. A metal hook hung from the sill, supporting a knotted rope hanging fifteen paces downward, to another rooftop below. People were climbing it. The Beoulve was first, climbing carefully on account of his missing hand, followed by a female in armor and another in robes, while the others waited their turn.

After a moment's thought Celia pulled one of her blades from its scabbard and sliced cleanly through the hanging rope. It tumbled downward along with the rain and the people on it. All landed in a clatter of metal and shouts and curses.

While they recovered, she drew her other blade, then leapt out into the rain, into the night, followed a blink later by Lede.

* * *

Ramza picked himself off a groaning Jasmine only to see Vector go down in a spray of blood. As the ninja toppled with a gurgling cry, he revealed a sculpted woman in bluish silks standing over him with a sword in each fist. The steady rain seemed not to upset her or even register in her awareness, despite it pushing her pale hair around and ruining her garments, and as he watched another woman just like her, save for garments of pink instead of blue, dropped to the roof beside her without a sound.

Both women's heads turned towards him, a glassy-smooth movement. Their faces could have been crafted of porcelain for all the warmth or expression they carried.

Ramza's skin crawled, and with a snarl he scrambled to his feet. The blue woman flowed towards him, blades blurring through the rain, and he fired an Earth Slash through her. Stone roared and roof tiles flew in every direction, but in a blink she was on him, sporting only bruises.

He deflected a backhanded slash with his dagger, only to have the thing nearly knocked from his arm. Spinning under the attack, he twisted into a powerful punch to her midsection, but succeeded in striking only fluttering silk. An upward slash nearly cost him his good arm before he skidded back in a panic.

"Welcome to Limberry Castle." The woman's voice was low and cool, not at all like she was fighting, and her eyes never left his. "We thought you'd be here sooner."

"We want you to feel welcome here," added the other in the same voice, as she yanked a blade free of Alicia's chest, "before we burn you to death."

Ignoring Alicia collapsing to the puddled rooftop, Ramza lunged for the assassin fighting him. One sword hummed towards his face as he advanced; he batted it aside with the palm of his hand, leaving the second one free to score a gash across his stomach. Gritting his teeth, he followed the woman as she slid back. Drove a fist into her throat, spun a booted foot into the side of her head.

She skidded three paces away, then straightened herself without expression. Blood leaked from a swollen lump on her temple but her eyes remained as flat and unblinking as ever. Like a doll's eyes. Beyond her, the other one was busy heaving an armored Agrias four paces away, into Rafa.

Without a word the blue-clad one advanced again. Silk rippled behind her; twinned blades sliced falling raindrops apart as she lunged towards him.

Ramza slid aside from the path of an impaling stab, then twisted into a sweep at the woman's legs. She leapt like a dancer, spinning smoothly over the attack as though she'd been anticipating it. Soft-booted feet landed noiselessly on the rooftop, then pivoted; one blade blurred towards his neck.

Unable to block the attack, Ramza instead drove his dagger forward, into the woman's forearm, arresting the blow's momentum. Before she could recover, he snapped a kick up, into her chin.

The assassin flipped back and landed on her feet. Blood flowed freely from the wound on her arm but she still gripped the blade tightly as ever, and no pain showed on her face.

He grimaced. _They're not human, are they? They can be hurt, though._ Without hesitating he kept up his offense, leveling another Earth Slash at her. The nameless woman lifted her blades, crossed her arms, perhaps hoping to block the brunt of the attack.

_Good._ He was already running, following in its wake, when the thing tore through her. The roof was wet, slippery; it was an easy matter to drop to his knees and bend back, skidding between her spread legs. Once behind her, he planted a boot on the mangled roof and twisted, up and back.

His dagger sank for the entirety of its length into her back. Wrapping his good arm around her neck, he withdrew the weapon and stabbed her again, lifting her off her feet. She was slim, surprisingly light for someone of such strength.

She dropped one of the blades with a clatter, then reached over her shoulder, fumbling for his face, his ears, anything she could reach. With lips thinned he evaded her reaching fingers. Stabbed her a third time, twisted the dagger. Felt steel grate against bone. She didn't make a sound.

Somehow she managed to make a fist in his hair. Holding his head in place, she slammed her own head backwards, into his face. Stars blossomed in his vision; blood leaked from his nose.

When his vision cleared she'd gotten away from him, though she'd dropped to one knee, breathing heavily. Blood had stained her silks along with the rain, looking black in the thick night-shadows.

The one in pink paused in the act of hacking at a bloodied Rafa, paused and swiveled her head to the one in blue. They exchanged a silent glance. Somewhere above, thunder rumbled.

Then both faced him again. "Ramza, come inside," instructed the one in blue. Her voice was a wet, bubbling rasp, though even now her face remained free of pain.

"If you want our stone," added the other, "come and get it. We'll be waiting."

Ramza bared his teeth, lunging for the wounded one, but something _rippled_ and flashed. And then she was gone. They were both gone.

Skidding to a halt, he stared through the rain at the empty space in which the assassin had just been kneeling. Then, with a grunt, he turned to examine his companions.

Vector, a motionless form in a puddle of blood. Alicia, much the same. Agrias, huddled and pale, with a hole in her chest, through the armor, leaking blood. Jasmine, on her back, facing the sky. Rafa, up but wounded, clutching a bleeding injury in her side.

_Great._ Jaws clenched, Ramza hurried to Jasmine, checked her for a pulse and found one. Just unconscious, then. Without a word he scrambled over to Vector, a few paces away. Placed hands on his bloody chest, willed some of his own life into the other man.

Vector coughed and groaned, clutching at his ribs, but Ramza was already gone, already to Alicia. Another chest wound, right through the heart; brown eyes wide and surprised, unblinking despite the rain striking them. With lips thinned he folded his hands over the injury, repeated the drill he'd done on Vector.

She convulsed but didn't come back. Swallowing, he tried again, put more of his own vitality into the attempt; his vision blurred and the world roared, but when it all cleared Alicia was breathing. Eyes closed, mouth open, probably unconscious, but alive, and the wound in her chest had largely sealed up.

With a relieved sigh he spun and hurried to Agrias, only to stumble to his knees halfway there. Everything swayed and he doubled over, planting his hand in the puddles on the roof, waiting as the dizziness passed, as he fought the urge to retch. _Too much. Gave too much. But at least Alicia's alive._

When he could see again, Rafa was already tending to Agrias. Jasmine was sitting upright too, blinking around the rooftop as though surprised to find the battle already over.

_Oh, good. Everyone's... everyone's fine, then._ His arm wobbled, then gave out, depositing him on the rooftop.

Boots splashed through puddles and then Rafa was squatting before him, rolling him over, touching his face. "Ramza?"

"I'm fine." Squeezing his eyes shut against the rain, he held up a hand to ward off her concern. "Potions and healing for everyone. We need to keep going as soon as possible."

* * *

Meliadoul frowned up through the night. Far above, on a rooftop some forty paces above the ground, lights were flickering in a telltale pattern. Magic, or possibly sword skills. _But either way, there's a fight. That means Ramza is there._

Glancing around, she sought and spotted the nearest castle gate, a rectangle of deeper black among the shadows of the wall. With a nod she broke into a run towards it.

* * *

The hallways of Limberry Castle stood brightly-lit and empty, silent but for the hollow echoes of their footsteps. Either it was just an empty place, or its inhabitants knew enough to stay out of sight at the moment.

Ramza wandered. Feet shuffling, frowning, eyes closed, wandering. Something tingled his skin, stirred the hair on his arms and neck, and he was following it. It was a familiar sensation, bringing to mind Velius, Queklain, and that meant Elmdor was near. So he ignored his vision, and instead let the blackness in his heart resonate with something it must have considered kin. Or maybe it was the Zodiac stones doing that, but whatever it was, it led and he followed.

Mere minutes after entering the Castle he pushed open a pair of gilded oak doors and strode into... a ballroom, it seemed. A vast space, longer than it was wide, with tall ceilings boasting glittering and jeweled chandeliers, it sported a plush rug over most of the stone floor and marble statues of rulers past lining the walls.

The people he'd come to kill were present as well, the two assassins and the manicured and silver-haired Marquis Elmdor. The women no longer showed any signs of injury, and all were well-dressed, presentable. Ramza's lips peeled back from his teeth.

"Ramza Beoulve," greeted Elmdor, flowing forward with something like a dancer's grace. Dark eyes flickered across the party in neutral acknowledgement before sliding back. "It's a pleasure to meet you. You've come for me, haven't you?"

He nodded. "Give me your stone."

The Marquis laughed, throwing back his head, even clapping black-gloved hands together over his chest. "I'm afraid I can't do that. It's a part of me, now."

Ramza frowned at this, shuffling a step forward. Rafa ghosted ahead with him, with Agrias on his other side. "You're Lucavi. I can tell." He paused, but the other man didn't answer, only blinked back at him with unreadable eyes. "The only way to get your stone is to kill you, isn't it?"

Elmdor spread his hands amicably. "I would imagine so, young Beoulve. Have you tried to use one? They're... rather hard to part with."

"Why would I bother?" Without waiting for an answer he turned a sideways glance on Agrias. "Remember what I told you." The two assassins could kill people faster than Jasmine could bring them back, so the only viable tactic here was an all-out offense. Which suited him fine, but the Holy Knight had found it distasteful, earlier.

Agrias gave her lips a twist, slid clear sapphire eyes towards the waiting demons. "I haven't forgotten." She'd argued, of course, but the bloody aftermath of the last skirmish had convinced her in short order.

Ramza clenched his remaining fist, shifted his gaze ahead, to Elmdor. His opponent. Jasmine would hang back for support and the others would split up to cover the assassins, one to occupy each and one to attack her back, leaving Elmdor for him alone.

Candlelight flickered in the cheery chandelier above. The Marquis and his assassins waited.

Without warning Ramza broke into a sprint, arms pumping, bolting straight for Elmdor, and instantly the assassins drew their blades and darted ahead to intercept him. Rather than try to slip between them he leapt up, diving with arms outstretched, and vaulted off the head of the woman in pink. Two blades whistled after him, a blink too slow to catch more than a corner of his clothes, and then he was tumbling into a roll to meet the waiting Elmdor.

Only Elmdor wasn't there when he came up. A quick whirl showed him half the room away, attacking a panicked Jasmine.

Growling, Ramza angled towards the man, only to have the blue-clad assassin step in front of him, dark eyes flat and watchful. Past her, hidden, Jasmine screamed.

_Shit. I don't have time for this._ Clearing his face, Ramza darted aside, hoping simply to slip around the woman, but she slid to match his movement. Something cold flared in his chest, maybe anger, and then he was advancing on the assassin, running. An Earth Slash cleared the path for him, and while she was blocking it he opened up her belly with the dagger.

The woman didn't scream, didn't react at all. Lowering her crossed blades, she whirled, dancing off at an angle to attack him back-handed. With a hiss he caught the first slash, caught the naked blade near the hilt with his bare hand, felt the weapon bite into his flesh. Then, tugging it off to one side, he drew the assassin off-balance enough to twist a kick into the side of her head, snapping it around. Another slice with the dagger opened her throat, and then he shoved her coldly away.

The woman remained on her feet, though. Stumbling as though dizzy, she caught herself, then shuffled around to stare at him. The entire front of her body was little more than a mess of glistening crimson, and some emotion had finally managed to work its way across her perfect features.

Confusion.

He struck again before she could recover. Another slash, one across the face. A knee to the wound in her stomach, doubling her over. An elbow to the back of her head, driving her to the ground. A twisting planted boot, snapping her neck.

Panting, Ramza glanced up to scan the rest of the battle. Agrias and Vector were busy occupying Elmdor, while Jasmine was safely away, though sprawled on her backside and touching her throat with a shaking hand. The others, Alicia and Rafa, were harassing the other assassin, keeping her on the defensive.

With a shake of his head, Ramza inspected his wounded hand. Blood was flowing freely from the gash across the palm, and his fingers would barely move. A hurried chakra left the blood but at least restored some of his movement.

Before he could join the fight again, however, the body of the assassin on the ground exploded. Throwing up an arm to block his eyes, he backed off a pace, prepared for the worst. When the light and rumbling ceased, what stood in the woman's place was a massive clawed demon grinning at him.

_Oh, for fuck's sake._ Ramza didn't wait for the thing to speak, or attack, or whatever the hell it was going to do. An opening Earth Slash, followed by two swift strikes to the throat and chest. An open claw into the side of his head, raking across his face.

Pausing to blink away the blood trickling into his eye, he gritted his teeth as a column of emerald light speared through him, turning his blood sour. Then, with limbs burning and tingling, he launched another attack, another sequence of strikes to confound and maim. A punch to the face, followed by a sidestep to avoid the predictable counterattack. Gripping the beast's outstretched arm, he ducked under it and twisted, causing bones to crack, and a boot driven sideways into the creature's knees toppled it with a wet crunch and an angry bellow. Following the demon's fall, he danced around, still holding the massive arm, and slipped it between his legs for another twist, another set of broken bones. Then, crouching, he slammed the thing's head into the floor once, twice, and followed it with a pair of stabs to its neck.

The subsequent explosion left nothing but dust in his eyes and a ringing in his ears. A moment of concentration removed the poison the demon had inflicted on him.

Sighing, he took stock of the battle once more, then nodded. Alicia and Rafa had finished off the other assassin, or demon, or whatever it was, while Agrias and Vector had brought Elmdor to his knees. The Marquis looked to be missing some of his equipment, too, doubtless courtesy of Vector.

_Slippery bastard. Serves him right for not staying to fight me. _Ramza shook his head and trotted towards the others.

With one gloved hand on the golden stone wall for support, Elmdor swayed and blinked as though battling seasickness. "These... these bodies aren't all they're cracked up to be," he muttered. Then, snarling, he pointed his free hand at Ramza. "You want my stone? Fine. Come get it. In the basement." As his last word still hung in the air, he rippled and disappeared.

Ignoring the departed noble, Ramza turned to Jasmine, who was just now climbing to her unsteady feet. "Are you okay?"

She swallowed but spared him a sunny smile. "Yeah, I was just... yeah, I'm fine."

He nodded. "Let's heal up and go."

* * *

Safe in the shadow of an empty doorframe, Meliadoul waited until the group's footsteps had faded down the nearby stairwell. Then, slipping out, she followed after them. Though they shouldn't be able to hear her footsteps and clinking armor from so far below, her instincts advised wariness, so she moved more slowly than they had. Dangerous criminals required unusual measures of caution.

Lamplight flickered cheerily across golden stone as she descended the spiraling stairs. _Soon, brother. Soon I will avenge you._

Long moments later, a distant, muted voice caught her ear. Slowing, she tilted her head to listen. A man's voice. Elmdor? She hadn't heard him before, not in person, but the speaker sounded to be of noble blood. And didn't sound like Ramza, the little she'd heard of his voice as they'd walked past her.

Frowning, she resumed her passage down the stairs and shortly found herself emptied out into a broad landing of sorts, a wide poorly-lit space of dark stone. Unpolished, undecorated. Surely no one ever came this far down, not more than once or twice a year.

The speaker's voice was still drifting out through one of the dark doorways. "...end here, in this graveyard!" A harsh, desperate shout.

_Yeah, that's Elmdor._ With a shake of her head, Meliadoul edged towards the door, let her eyes adjust to the dim space within. The Marquis was indeed the one who'd been speaking, she saw; he stood, or knelt, at the center of everyone else's attention, while a half-dozen pale undead surrounded Ramza and his troop, some atop the slanting graves of the forgotten dead.

Lips thinning, Meliadoul ducked behind the wall and kept only her head out, just enough to watch. Best to attack when they were already fighting. She hadn't expected the Marquis' help in killing Ramza, but there was no reason to reject it. _Although, undead? Why are....?_

Before she could finish the thought, blinding light radiated out from Elmdor, braiding crystal rays angling wildly across the walls and ceiling, accompanied by a floor-rumbling explosion. When she could see again past the strobing afterimages in her eyes, the Marquis was gone.

In his place was... a demon. An insect, enormous, flying, dripping with ooze. A demon.

Her eyes widened of her own accord, and her striding feet carried her out into the cemetery. "What the _hell_ is this?"

As one the heretics glanced back at her, then fixed their attention back on Elmdor. On the thing that had been Elmdor. "He's a demon," explained Ramza in a flat voice without turning back around. "Lucavi."

"That's right!" shrieked the demon, fluttering its gossamer wings in a gesture she interpreted as laughter. "This is the power of the holy stones!"

"What?" Meliadoul stopped in her tracks, felt the blood drain from her face. "But... but my father.... Does he know?"

The Lucavi laughed again; the fluttering wings made her skin crawl. "Does he know? He's one of us! He's a suitable host, not like you or your stupid brother. A blood member of darkness!"

Too stunned even to be angry, she stared at the demon. _The power of the holy stones?_ Abruptly she was aware of the one she carried, of Sagittarius in her pocket; was it just her imagination, or was it... active? She could _feel_ it there, feel it pulsing, like it was echoing this terrible beast's heartbeat. She swallowed, licked her lips.

"We're going to kill him," added Ramza, "and take his stone. You going to help?"

_A demon. And he insulted Izlude._ "Yeah, if you get out of my way." Drawing her blade, she ignored the undead and advanced towards Elmdor, slipping around Ramza to do so.

As though her movement was some signal, everyone else in the room leapt into action as well. The Oaks woman launched one of her Holy Knight attacks, killing one of the surrounding undead instantly, while the spellcaster -- Jasmine, the reports claimed -- began an invocation. The others rushed their nearest targets, save Ramza, who dodged around an undead knight to reach Elmdor.

Meliadoul joined him and reached the beast at the same time. While her heavy blade bit into monstrous flesh, shearing into a brittle wing, the heretic managed to land no fewer than three blows, two punches and a slice. The demon shrieked again, batting claws at her and Ramza, invoking foul pulses of magic to shred through her body. Pain followed, a dizzy sensation that threatened to topple her, but she gritted her teeth and ignored it. Landed another slash, hacking two-handed into the monster's slimy exterior. Blinked away spittle that burned little pinpricks into her face.

Out of nowhere a column of blue-white light erupted, lancing through the demon with a fearsome purity not to be found by other means in the mortal realm. The beast froze with its head thrown back, howling, but Meliadoul, not content to wait to see if it was defeated, thrust her blade right into the thing's neck. Felt steel crunch through bone and cartilage. Then, growling, she gave the weapon a twist, causing more white light to spill out of the wound.

And then the demon exploded. Threw her back against the wall, where she slid to the damp floor below. Something moaned somewhere, the low keen of some frustrated spirit.

Giving her head a brisk shake to clear it, Meliadoul planted the tip of her sword on the stone floor and pushed herself to her feet. As she did so, the remaining undead, frozen, dissipated like smoke on the wind, going... somewhere. She twisted her lips at the thought.

Ramza still stood where the thing had died, and was now squatting on his heels to retrieve a glittering gemstone. Turning it over in his hand, he examined it for a moment, then grunted. "Gemini. Figures." Shadowed dark eyes glanced up without expression, scanned over the rest of the room. "Everyone okay?"

Oaks drew herself upright to face him, though Meliadoul doubted she was aware of it. "Yeah. Surprisingly few injuries, actually." Indeed, the worst affected by the fight looked to be the ninja Vector, whose bloody leg Jasmine was already tending to.

Ramza nodded, seeming uninterested, and focused his gaze back on the gem in his hand. Then, with a shrug, he tucked it into a belt pouch.

* * *

"Ramza."

He blinked, then shifted to study Meliadoul Tingel. She still stood where she'd been thrown, a shadowy green-robed figure. Shorter than he'd been expecting, too, about Jasmine's height, though clearly strong enough to swing that beast of a sword. "What?" As he spoke, Agrias drifted over in his direction, one hand on her sword hilt, eyes on the Shrine Knight.

Meliadoul twitched, then strode briskly to meet him. A noble frown creased her features, what little of them he could see among the thick shadows of her hood. "You killed Izlude. Right?"

"That's right." Beside him, Agrias shifted into a ready stance, probably expecting to draw steel at any moment, but he kept his eyes on the Shrine Knight. "Why?"

"He was my brother," growled Meliadoul. She, too, gripped her massive blade as though ready to draw it and lunge at him. "You killed my brother. What do you have to say in your defense?"

"I was going for Vormav, and Izlude was there. He fought us." He knew why she was asking, of course, knew what kind of boiling rage she had to be bottling up for the moment. "Why? Are you going to kill me?"

Meliadoul's eyes narrowed at this, glittering slits in the deep shadows of her hood. "You're... unapologetic?" she whispered. "You've lost your own sister, I'm told, and yet you... you're almost _mocking_ me. You're a villain, aren't you? A real, honest-to-God villain. Everything they said about you is true."

Ramza felt his face grow tight, felt his hand clench into a fist at his side. "You didn't answer my question."

"About killing you?" Her voice was still a whisper, but sharp. "Who's to say? Perhaps I'm still thinking about it."

He nodded, thinking. Meliadoul had a stone. Sagittarius had just walked right up to him, in a place with no witnesses, where no one could hear her shout or scream. _Maybe it would be best just to...._

Abruptly he blinked, then sighed and rubbed his face. She'd lost somebody too. She was still an enemy, and would be until she died or went renegade, but.... He shook his head, reached out to rest his hand on one plate-armored shoulder. "Let's just... this isn't a good place to talk." _She saw Zalera. Maybe she can be reasoned with. _"We all need to get out of here, including you."

The Shrine Knight pondered this for a moment, tense under his hand. "Yes. Elmdor. They'll find us. I can't kill you if Limberry soldiers do it first, right?" She laughed then, a hoarse, almost rasping sound. Jasmine laughed as well, though uncomfortably, while Agrias still regarded the green-robed knight with flat suspicion.

Ramza watched Meliadoul until she cut herself off in mid-laugh, then gestured to the doorway. "Go ahead."

She bowed, actually bowed with a flourish, and echoed his doorward gesture. "No, after you. I insist."

He turned and left her there in the darkness before she even finished talking, trusting that Agrias would keep her from stabbing him in the back, at least on the ascent through the castle. A whisper of cloth announced Rafa falling in beside him, her movements smooth and fluid as ever. He slid his eyes towards her but said nothing; she would speak once Meliadoul was out of an earshot, he guessed.

Moments later, as they were climbing up the spiral stair, she proved him right. "You were thinking about killing her," she murmured, keeping her eyes on the steps ahead. "Weren't you? Meliadoul, I mean."

Ramza grimaced. Opened his mouth, then closed it again without speaking.

"She said she was thinking about killing you," continued Rafa, reasoning aloud, "and you got to thinking about how she had a stone, and how maybe it would just be better to take it. Then you realized you were thinking about killing a grieving woman in cold blood and got disgusted with yourself, so you got really gentle with her to make up for it." All this, in a low, breathy monotone. It wasn't even a question.

_Damn it._ She understood far too much. "Rafa... why do you--"

"It's okay." Her knuckles brushed against the back of his hand as they continued they climbed the spiraling stairs. "I understand, Ramza."

He shook his head and didn't answer. The ascent back the surface elapsed in silence.


	12. One Foot in the Grave

_Honor or dishonor, faith or treachery, are nothing to me but the opposites of the same stupidity which is ruler and king of life, and in the end they rot into dust in the same grave. All things are the same meaningless joke to me, for they grin at me from the one skull of death. So go away. You're wasting breath._  
-- Eugene O'Neill, "The Iceman Cometh"

Chapter Twelve: One Foot in the Grave

"So. Elmdor."

"Mmm." Vormav stood facing the window in his Murond study, staring out over the sun-washed city of faith and piety and mindless, mindless sheep. The day was a hot one, though this far above the ground a steady breeze carried into the room, ruffling his hair, bringing some measure of cool.

"Vormav?"

"Yes. Elmdor's dead." Turning from the window, he frowned at the study's only other occupant. Ruvelia was a petite woman, and pretty, with fair skin, elaborately-done hair and wide brown eyes that made her seem innocent. "I'm aware."

The Queen arched an eyebrow at this, but shifted her gaze past him, out the window. She sat lounged in one of the chairs before his desk, one arm slung over the back, legs sprawled before her, the portrait of a languorous woman at ease. One finger toyed idly with a golden curl hanging past her cheek. "Any ideas?"

He kept his gaze on her, waited until she bothered to make eye contact again. "Perhaps a different approach is in order."

Ruvelia arched her other eyebrow and stared back at him for a time, as the breeze shifted her opulent garments with mischievous fingers. Then her lips compressed into a thin line. "You think that'll work?"

Vormav shrugged. "I'm certain he'll go for you next. So unless you want to fight him, after he's killed Velius and Zalera, you'd better consider it."

She sighed, an exaggerated, put-upon gesture, and let her head slump sideways into her open hand, supported by an elbow on the desk. Brown eyes drifted back to the window. "I suppose it's worth a try."

"Just be cautious," he advised. "The kid isn't like most men."

The Queen's lips quirked, an amused smile, and she didn't look at him. "Oh, Vormav. What do you know about most men?"

He spread his hands. "Or let your guard down and die. I don't care."

With another sigh, Ruvelia pushed herself to her feet and adjusted her dress, a ridiculous gold-embroidered thing of white and red silk. "Fine. I'll let you know how it works." Without waiting for a response she blinked away, probably back to Lesalia.

Grunting, Vormav turned and strode for the door. There were still some pieces to move before he could close in on the endgame.

* * *

"Do you believe in hell, Ramza?" asked Meliadoul conversationally from beside him, inspecting her fingernails as she spoke.

Ramza grunted around a mouthful of apple and stared into the crackling campfire. The others had joined them as well, and had formed their own little conversations, Agrias trying to pry the life story out of an uncomfortable Vector, while Jasmine and Rafa spoke in low voices, shooting occasional glances his way. He doubted they were talking about much of importance, though Rafa would almost certainly explain should he ask, if he decided he cared enough to do so. Alicia sat directly across the campfire from him, on a half-rotten log dragged from the edge of the Dolbodar Swamp a hundred paces to the west. Her face was unreadable, her eyes dark and glittering as she watched him like a hawk.

Eventually he swallowed his food and shrugged. "I don't care enough about it to wonder. But I suppose it makes sense; the Zodiac demons have to come from somewhere."

"Mmm." The Shrine Knight's hands clenched into fists under her gaze, though she relaxed them almost instantly. Dancing firelight painted warm shadows on her exposed skin. "How about a judging God?"

He curled his lips, aware of Agrias' cool eyes following their conversation from across the fire as she in turn spoke with Vector. "Absolutely not."

"Oh? You don't believe in God at all, or you don't believe that he judges?"

"Neither, really." He shrugged again, taking another bite from his apple. "If there is a God, he certainly doesn't punish the wicked, or appear to care about what they do."

"I see." Meliadoul stretched beside him, though her obvious tension suggested it was a ruse, something to make him think she was relaxed. She was sitting close to him, too close. "Then I am your judge, Ramza. I'll decide when you die, and where you'll go afterwards."

"You have a pretty high opinion of yourself." He couldn't decide if she was threatening him, or just had a morbid way of flirting. Probably threatening. "At least one of those is already determined."

"Oh?" The fire popped, and orange sparks fluttered skyward for the moment it took them to burn out. The green-robed knight lapsed into silence, apparently choosing not to continue trying to unbalance him.

When she didn't answer, Ramza let his eyes slide shut, let the flames warm his face. The others were still talking, Rafa and Jasmine in subdued voices, Vector's nervous laughs as he denied anything interesting ever having happened to him. Somewhere off in the swamp, an owl's low cry echoed.

Eventually Meliadoul exhaled a brisk sigh. "I'm going to sleep."

He nodded. "Don't worry about taking a watch."

"I won't." Clothes whispered and armor clicked as she pushed herself to her feet, and then hissing grass marked her progress off to one side, away from the fire.

He opened his eyes to find Alicia rising to gather her blankets as well, though afterwards she brought them back towards the fire -- she got cold easily -- and then everyone was rising, stretching, preparing for sleep. Ramza watched them a moment longer, then stood as well and strode off into the dew-damp grass and moon shadows. He was first watch.

Heavy footsteps approached behind him, however, twenty paces past the edge of the camp; he slowed, suppressing a sigh. "What is it, Agrias?"

The Holy Knight fell in beside him, scowling at the moon-silvered grasses parting before their passage. "She's bad news, Ramza. She's going to try to kill you."

"What? Who, Meliadoul?"

"Yeah."

He pondered this for a moment, then shrugged. "That's fine."

"Don't get cocky," hissed Agrias, catching his elbow and stopping him, turning him to face her. She was scowling, almost glaring, and the moonlight left her pale skin almost completely colorless. "She's not some chump of a bounty hunter after you. She's elite. She's dangerous."

"The hell you want me to do about it?" he muttered, jerking his arm free of her grasp. "Kill her right now?"

"That... might not be a bad idea," admitted Agrias with a sigh, "but... no. No matter what she happens to think, we're not villains."

"Speak for yourself. If you don't have the guts, maybe I'll do it."

The words were barely out of his mouth before his vision flashed red and his head jerked around. It took a moment for the sting on his cheek to explain what had happened: she'd slapped him. Agrias had actually struck him. Swallowing, he touched his cheek and turned back to stare at her, uncertain what to say.

She was staring right back at him, arms crossed over her chest, brows knitted into a fierce scowl. "Don't you get flippant about it," she whispered. "Don't you lose yourself. I understand you're not a happy person, but there are limits. There are things you just don't do."

He frowned at her, lost for words. He hadn't been totally serious about slitting Meliadoul's throat in her sleep, but Agrias had taken him at his word. In her mind, he was someone who actually could do that, who would actually boast about having the nerve to slay someone in cold blood. And so she was actually _hurt_; despite her whisper, her voice was near cracking, and her eyes were too bright for the patchy moonlight alone to account for.

_But maybe she's right. I am that kind of person._ Mere hours earlier he'd been considering striking Meliadoul down inside Limberry just to get her stone. A woman. Somebody's sister.

Long moments later, Agrias slumped and rubbed a hand down her face. "I'm... sorry, Ramza," she muttered, sliding her eyes away. "Sometimes it all just... gets to me."

"Don't sweat it." _She was totally right. I need to be more careful. _"I don't mind."

She shrugged uncomfortably and regarded him out of the corners of her eyes. "You'll wake me for watch?

"Yeah."

Agrias nodded once, folded arms across her middle once more, then turned to shuffle back towards the camp. After a time Ramza resumed his passage in the other direction.

Gradually the noise and activity behind him faded, leaving only the muted crackle of the fire, which would die down over the next hour. Crickets replaced the buzz of conversation, a staggered chorus of chirping that was so familiar as to be almost inaudible. His legs and back developed a mild ache, standing so in armor after a day of fighting and travel, but the grass was long enough to make sitting on watch impractical. At least if he still wanted to be able to see anything.

_Meliadoul._ He frowned. Something felt odd about having her around, a person who might well be planning to kill him. She'd barely spoken at all as they'd traveled earlier, just curt answers to questions put to her. But then, nobody had really spoken; the earlier rain and the fight with Elmdor had made idle chatter seem inappropriate.

Abruptly he blinked, then spun, raising the knife for a backhanded slash at the face of whomever was sneaking up on him. Then he caught himself, frowning.

There was a woman there, standing in the grass, not two paces away. Short-ish, golden hair, pale hands folded at her waist, a plain silver gown that glowed in the moonlight. Dark eyes, shadowed, which blinked patiently up at him. Something tickled his nose, too. A perfume, one unlike what Meliadoul wore; she was the only one in his group to bother with such things.

After a moment he flickered a quick glance back towards the camp, only to realize no one was awake. At least no one he could see among the thick shadows. "You must be Ruvelia."

The Queen's lips curved into a smile. "What gave it away?"

He stared at her, studying her. Was she there to attack him? "I can just tell."

Her smile deepened for a moment before fading. "Are you going to strike me?" she wondered in a low, musical murmur, gesturing at his knife arm. "I'm unarmed."

"I'm not ruling it out." Her posture was... not confident, exactly, so much as... relaxed. She wasn't planning to fight. If he could trust the body language of a Lucavi.

Her lips pursed at this. "You'd attack a woman? How... crude. Though I can assure you I only come to talk, and bear no weapons. You can even search me, if you'd like." She spread willowy arms to either side as she spoke, making the silk of her gown whisper, as though to show she was hiding nothing.

"Don't flatter yourself." He shifted to one side, the better to keep the camp in view past the woman's shoulder, just in the chance that she was only a distraction while someone slit his companions' throats or some such. There was no movement around the dying fire, though. "What do you want?"

Ruvelia ducked her head, spilling locks of golden hair over her shoulders, and folded thoughtful fingers before her lips as she shuffled forward, towards him. Her perfume tickled his nose, made him feel... sparkly. "I find myself wondering," she began at last, gesturing with her laced-together hands, "why you're collecting the stones. We were sure it was for power, at first, but you haven't used them at all. What do you plan to do with them, anyway?"

He eyed her for a moment before shifting his wandering gaze to the campsite, the surrounding area, watching for anything unexpected. "I'm going to destroy them."

"Hmm." A disappointed sound, as she shook her head. "Why?"

"They're evil." Still no one in the camp, no movement among the more distant grasses waving in the moonlight. "As I'm sure you know."

"They're only tools, Ramza," she countered with amusement coloring her voice. "Would you like to destroy all hammers too, just because you could use one for murder?"

He peeled lips back from his teeth. "That's a ridiculous comparison." Nobody moving in the camp, neither friend nor ally. No movement at all in the night.

She chuckled. "Well, maybe so. But you...." She trailed off, then grated a frustrated sigh. "Ramza, could you at least _look_ at me?" In her irritation she actually stamped a foot on the ground. "No one's going to attack you, or your friends. I would've sent assassins if I'd wanted to do that. Not come here myself."

Frowning, he shifted his gaze back to her. "Better?" _Does she even have a stone here? I... can't feel it. Not as much as with the others._

The Queen glared back up at him for a time before relaxing into a snicker. "Actually, yes. Anyway, I was saying the stones are just tools, you know." She paused, stepping forward again, touching his cheek. Her fingers were smooth, soft, lacking the calluses of hard work or sword training. "You want to do good, don't you, Ramza? You can, with the stones."

He gripped her wrist and pushed it gently back towards her. "Prove it." _Why the difference? Is it because she's a woman? Or is Capricorn different from the others? Or is she masking her power somehow?_

She laughed, a low, intimate sound; dark eyes glittered with amusement as they peered up at him. "Why don't you? You have a lot of them, I'm told."

His face tightened. "If you're trying to tempt me with power, you're wasting both of our time. You don't have anything I want."

Ruvelia smiled at this, broadly, a flash of white teeth in the darkness, and it was some time before she spoke again. "I'll leave you now," she murmured, stepping back, "but we'll speak again. Perhaps about Delita next time."

_Great._ "What about him?"

She adjusted her dress, tugging pale silk into place, and spared him an unsmiling sideways glance. A few locks of hair hung to conceal her right eye. "Do you know his motives? He gave you a list, I'm told, but how much do you trust a man who's using you to get to me?"

He scowled at this. _Using me? If so, I'm using him too, to get the information I need. If he's lying to me, just using me to kill people, I'll find out the moment I confront someone who doesn't actually have a stone, so how would that help him? And really, how much do I even care?_

When he didn't answer, Ruvelia ducked her head, even spread her dress in a demure little curtsy. "Until next time, Ramza. And consider sweeping back your hair, if you would; with that scar, you'd look almost dashing." One final half-smile, a curve of shadowed lips, and then she was gone.

He continued to scowl through the space where she'd been, then shifted the expression to his open hand. He could still smell her perfume.

* * *

Agrias awoke to shouting. Instantly she was on her feet, blankets thrown aside, sword in one hand as she tried to push aside her grogginess and focus on the situation at hand.

Still dark; moonlight. Only one person standing in the camp apart from herself. Green robe, standing over Ramza, sword drawn. A white-robed figure on the ground a short distance away, bloody. Others just starting to rise from their blankets, shouting. Confused and worried.

Giving her head a brisk shake to dispel the fog, Agrias bolted ahead, slashing her blade down to summon a Holy Explosion. The familiar column of light flared up through Meliadoul and left strobing afterimages in her eyes, but she was already leaping, tackling the other woman to the ground. Somebody cursed, and then they were rolling, grappling. A gauntleted fist struck her in the face, bringing stars and the hot taste of blood, but she grabbed the arm, grabbed and twisted, hoping for a submission lock. Somehow the Shrine Knight blended with the attack, countered with another.

Gritting her teeth, Agrias drove a fist into Meliadoul's plated midsection and only bruised her knuckles. Wedged a knee between herself and her opponent, hoping to drive her away, but the damnable woman elbowed that aside. Straddled her, assumed a superior position and drew back her fist for a snarling punch.

Then came a wooden thump. Meliadoul blinked, then slumped forward atop Agrias, revealing white-clad Rafa and her staff standing a pace away.

Wasting no time, Agrias heaved the dead weight of the Shrine Knight aside and scrambled to her knees beside Ramza. He was conscious, but still lying down, jaws tight as he clutched a nasty wound in his stomach. His blood looked black in the moonlight, and his dark eyes stared up at her almost apologetically.

Closing her eyes, she invoked the white arts, knitting the wound shut. Ramza relaxed under her fingers, but she did it once more, restoring some of the vitality he'd lost with his blood, knowing that Rafa would be tending to the fallen Jasmine.

After the second spell she shook her head and stood, offering a hand down to help Ramza to his feet. A groggy Alicia was over with Rafa, slinging one of Jasmine's arms over her shoulders to do the same, while Rafa tucked empty potion bottles into one of the leather scrips. Vector had busied himself with Meliadoul, binding her wrists and ankles with thick rope, whistling as he worked.

Once it was clear Ramza could remain standing on his own power, Agrias released him and put hands on her hips. "Okay. What the hell happened here?"

Ramza shrugged, though his tight face suggested the movement hurt him. "I woke up hearing Jasmine scream, but before I could do anything Melidoul had already stabbed me. She was going to do it again but you tackled her."

Agrias frowned at this, then turned the expression to Jasmine. "What happened to you?"

The spellcaster summoned a weak smile and pressed a hand to her forehead. "I... don't remember anything, really. I was just standing there, and the next thing I remember Rafa was healing me up. Sorry."

"Your robe is shredded, too," observed Rafa in a low voice, fingering a tatter of white cloth. The whole garment looked as though wolves had fought over it.

"Oh." Jasmine glanced down at herself and swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut. "Yeah."

Agrias sighed. "Great." So, Meliadoul had feigned sleep, waiting until the weakest person was on watch, then had taken her out in a single attack before turning her attention on her real target, Ramza. Speared him to the ground with that monstrous sword, and probably would have finished him off if given the chance. "Ramza, what do you want to do?"

He shifted his gaze to Meliadoul, then shrugged. "Take her stuff and leave her tied up here. We should move camp at least a mile away, but she won't come after us again, not tonight."

"Right-o," acknowledged Vector, still kneeling next to the unconscious Shrine Knight. With a shrug he bent down again, started tugging at the buckles and straps holding her armor together.

As he worked, Rafa ghosted up to Ramza and gazed searchingly into his eyes. Ramza shifted his feet and made a visible effort not to look away. After a moment the assassin nodded, stepped back, and glanced around the camp with an air of pleasant expectation.

_Right._ Agrias shook herself, then exhaled briskly. Spared another glance towards Ramza but he seemed totally at ease, as much as he ever was; apparently he hadn't been lying about the argument earlier, about not minding that she'd slapped him.

With a roll of her eyes she squatted on her heels beside Meliadoul, on the other side from Vector. _The sooner we take care of her, the sooner I can get back asleep._

* * *

"...can't afford to live off the land when we march," Edgar was declaring, sweeping one gauntleted hand sideways in a gesture of absolute certainty. "For so many soldiers? We'd strip the land to the bone and still be left with half our men on the brink of--"

"And where do you plan to get the food we can't afford?" interrupted Cosmos coolly. "No one's suggesting we rely solely on what we find. But with a lack of gil we must scavenge what we can." A handful of grunts sounded around the table.

"Be that as it may," countered Edgar, biting off his words with excess precision, "what you're suggesting would turn half of Ivalice against us. Starving people get angry, and I don't want to have to fight off raids of angry farmers at our rear when we have the Hokuten ahead of us."

"You're exaggerating," sighed Bolmna, inspecting his fingernails in the light of a half-dozen flickering lamps. "But even if you weren't, we'd have no other choice, not if we still want to be able to...."

Delita leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, and ignored the bickering among his officers. They sat in his study, a space he was growing to use more and more of late, though one he'd be leaving in less than a week. _Just as well. I can get a new one in Lesalia, once it's ours._

A brisk knock from the door summoned his attention, followed by a click and Olan's head and shoulders peeking into the room. The man was stone-faced as always, with his good eye revealing nothing but a determined disregard for everything but the matter at hand. At his entry, the argument among the officers paused for a moment before resuming without a hitch.

Delita, however, caught Olan's eye and nodded. "I'll be back," he informed the others as he scraped back his chair and stood. Then, ignoring their nods and salutes, he strode for the door and followed Olan into the hallway.

Neither spoke as they strolled hallways filled with hustling pages and squires trying to edge past on some urgent errand or other. Delita paid them no mind for the short time it took him to find an unused room, another study. Bolmna's, in fact; the man wouldn't be needing it while still arguing with the others.

Closing the door with the soft click, Delita turned to Olan. "What news?"

"I have men in position in Lesalia," the officer explained flatly, adjusting his eyepatch as he spoke. "Reporting to us. Only a few so far, but there should be more by the time we march."

"Good." Delita nodded, then, folding arms across his chest, leaned against the room's cluttered desk. Only a thin bar of orange sunlight slanted in through the arrowslit serving as a window, leaving the space with a dim warm glow. "Assassins, or only spies?"

Olan twitched at this, perhaps at hearing his people described as "only" spies, and compressed his lips before speaking. "Spies. In the castle and the army. Do you want assassins?"

Delita frowned, flickering his eyes towards the closed door, then nodded. "Put competent men around Ruvelia," he instructed in a low voice. "Silent men. She may need to be dealt with."

Olan frowned momentarily. "You said you already had a plan for her. Someone else was aiming for her."

_Ramza._ "Yeah. But this is just in case. In case he doesn't get her." _Or doesn't bother getting to Lesalia quickly enough to beat the siege._

"I understand," admitted Olan, "but wouldn't General Zalbag make a more worthwhile target?"

"No. We don't need to worry about Zalbag. Just Ruvelia."

"Of course." The other man inclined his head. "Consider it done."

Delita nodded as well and pushed himself from the desk. "See to it, then. You know where to find me."

* * *

In the royal audience chamber, a grand and gaudy space glittering with clear crystal lamplight off gold and platinum plating, Zalbag Beoulve dropped to one knee and planted his other fist on the marble floor. "Majesty. You summoned me."

"I did." Queen Ruvelia Atkascha leaned forward in her throne, an austere and massive thing made wholly from gold, and fixed him with a stern brown-eyed stare. The festive sky-blue silk she wore, complete with embroidered white lions, looked out-of-place on such a diminutive woman on such an imposing throne. "I want Ovelia dead."

Zalbag blinked but recovered himself quickly. "How do you mean, Majesty? Assassination?"

She nodded once, briskly, and leaned back again. "By whatever means you think necessary, Zalbag. Just get it done."

He paused at this, trying not to frown. "But, Majesty, she's just a girl. Not a soldier at all. It's not--"

"Do you have a problem?" snapped the Queen. Producing the royal scepter, a tasseled thing tipped with a golden lion's head, she pointed it menacingly at him. "Do it. Do it or I'll have someone else kill _you,_ and then kill her anyway. Understood?"

Zalbag swallowed, aware of the snickers and snide mutters coming from behind him, from the court nobles allowed to be present for secret proceedings. "I understand, Majesty. Your commands are graven in my heart."

"As they should be. Dismissed."

Bowing again, Zalbag rose from the floor, spun, and strode for the gilded double doors. The nobles parted for him, a colorful sea of silks and perfumes, and he tried to ignore their condescending frowns. They didn't get it; they were a product of the slippery terrain of politics, not the stark realities of battle. They didn't have to worry about the implications of their actions because they never _did_ anything. _Fawners and wrist-lickers, all of them._

Once the doors boomed shut behind him, he stood in the broad marble landing and simply scowled at nothing. _Assassinate a girl. Ovelia. But... it's what duty requires, isn't it? Damn it._

* * *

"More ale?" The serving girl was a cheery one, a round-faced thing nearly popping out of the top of her dress, but her smile was nothing more than the dictate of politeness to an armed and well-dressed customer. Thirty, forty years ago, that might have been different.

_Well, I'm old now. _Cidolfas Orlandu smiled at her anyway, an expression that probably looked grandfatherly these days. He'd never been a skirt-chaser, or even the flirting type, but oh, how the girls had smiled when he'd walked into a room, back in the day. "A little," he agreed, setting his wooden mug on the scuffed tabletop. "Half a mug, maybe."

"Of course." Grinning now, the girl poured a dark ale into the mug, even biting her tongue as she made certain it was exactly half, then offered a quick curtsy before hurrying off to another table.

Orlandu allowed himself a chuckle as he lifted the mug to his lips. It was bitter, as the locals preferred, but good. He drank even less than he danced, but with his size and musculature, this much wouldn't even make him tipsy, let alone drunk.

It was a curious situation he found himself in now. A general without an army. A noble without any estates. A living man without a life. Delita Hyral had taken his life without actually killing him, an act that had left him surprisingly... free. _I can do whatever I want, now._

But despite his newfound freedom, or perhaps because of it, he felt... twitchy. Restless. Roaming from town to city to village, thinking, making and discarding plan after plan. Listening to rumors, parsing truth from fantasy. It was hard to plan when you didn't have solid information or a goal.

_A goal._ Sipping again from his ale, he scanned the common room revelers, young people awash in sweat-heat and the carefree abandon of the drunk and dancing. The musicians weren't even half-bad here, a pair of fiddlers who looked like brothers. _I can't just walk around. I need something to do. Retirement isn't for me._

What he could do, he wasn't certain. With Goltana dead, politics had no place for him, and with Delita leading the Nanten, soldiering didn't either. _But I have Libra. What am I even supposed to do with this thing, now?_ He could feel the stone, a gentle weight in the inner pocket of his cloak. They had powers -- or were cursed, depending on who you asked -- but he'd never seen his do anything but sit there and glitter like any other pretty gemstone.

_Hmm. Maybe it's time to find out some things._ There were only a few people he could ask. As a source of information, he discounted the Shrine Knights immediately; they'd been disappearing lately, he'd heard, and it seemed unlikely that a desperate and paranoid bunch like them would take kindly to an old man wandering around with Libra. The Church, likewise. The way things were these days, he'd be lucky if they just took the stone from him and didn't brand him a heretic for carrying it.

_A heretic._ That brought him to the youngest Beoulve kid, little Ramza. Regardless of what the Church was saying, he had a hard time bringing himself to believe that kind-hearted and mild-mannered Ramza was the fire-breathing archvillain on all the bounty posters. _He has to know something. Maybe there's a way for me to help out, still._ The only reason he'd done nothing so far was the little doubting whisper in the back of his mind, the one saying that men could change, that the wisest course was never to assume goodwill.

_Bah. I know the kid. He's fine._ Downing the last of his ale, Orlandu slammed the mug back onto the table, wiped his mouth with the back of a hand, and rose to his feet. _Don't know why I waited so long to do this. The cautious strategist in me, I suppose._

He took the inn's stairs two at a time, ignoring how they creaked under his weight, and slipped past a Limberry merchant into the second-floor hallway. _Where can I find the kid, though? He moves around a lot, and all the rumors place him in different places. I'll have to do some research, it seems._

Once into the privacy of his room, he pulled Libra from his cloak and frowned at it. In the dim light sneaking in under the door, the gem still sparkled like it was alive. _What's so important about you, anyway? You're not even that much to look--_

A sudden pain in his middle interrupted the thought. Frowning more deeply, he pressed an open hand to his ribs, took a deep breath, but the pain actually spread further. Got worse. Twined out like some evil vine into his arms and legs, touching his heart. And then came the cold.

His eyes widened. _Damn it!_ A quick glance around the room showed him nothing of use, just bed and nightstand. A window in the wall, but shuttered, too small for him to fit through. The door? _It'll have to do._

Grimacing, he fumbled the Zodiac stone back into his cloak with a shaking hand, then made for the door. His knees buckled before he could get there, though, and then he was somehow on the floor rug, blinking past stars in his vision as he stared along the floor. _No. Have to get...._

Abruptly the door creaked open, outside his field of vision, and a pair of soft boots whispered in. "It seems it's true what they say," murmured a man's voice. "Even a master swordsman can't fight poison."

"You!" Orlandu growled, peeled lips back from his teeth as he tried to rise, tried to move, but his limbs would barely respond. The cold was spreading now, leaving in its wake an odd, almost comfortable numbness. "You'll never... never get away with...."

"I'm afraid I already have." A gloved hand gripped his shoulder, rolled him half-over to rummage around in his cloak, and soon enough the hard pressure of Libra was gone. "Farewell."

"You... come back!" demanded Orlandu, but his voice was thin, a strained whisper. The door clicked shut again without further response.

Groaning, he clenched a fist and stared at it, clenching his teeth. He could fight poison. He could. The body obeyed the wishes of the mind, and if his will was strong enough, he could... could do... something? Fog swirled within, confusing him, concealing his thoughts.

The darkness was gentle as it claimed him.

* * *

A half-day north of Dorter, in a camp made sodden by steady and unceasing rainfall, Ruvelia's perfume tickled his nose again.

Grimacing, Ramza half-twisted to find the woman standing right behind him, smiling. Then he sighed and shuffled the rest of the way around. "Why do you always do that? Appear behind my back, I mean. It's annoying."

"Oh?" Her voice was a low murmur, and shadows shifted as she arched one delicate eyebrow. "So you'd rather watch me when I come... here?"

He opened his mouth, then paused, watching her. Then he sighed. "That's... crude," he accused in a mutter, staring off to one side, at the rain pattering into rocky mud puddles. This close to the desert, there was little vegetation to catch the rain as it fell.

"Oh, Ramza." She chuckled, a smoky sound. "You need to lighten up. Take a joke. I'd figured that girl over there, the one in white, might have helped you... _relax _somewhat."

He turned his gaze back on her, frowning, as a curious lightness spread through his chest. Then a single brisk step took him within reach of the Queen. Gripping the neck of her form-fitting silver gown, he tugged her stumbling forward. "Mention Rafa again," he whispered, "and I'll kill you where you stand."

Ruvelia tilted her head at this, shifting rain-soaked golden curls, but her shadowed eyes never left his own. Nor did she make a move to escape. A light, unidentifiable perfume tickled his nose, unaffected by the steady rainfall. "So" she murmured, touching his wrist with cool fingers. "You're a forceful man. Some women might appreciate that." Her low, even tone left in doubt whether she counted herself one such.

Blinking, Ramza shifted his stare to his hand, locked in the delicate silk folds of her gown. Then, disgusted, he released her. Turned away, folded arms over his chest, gazed off over the night-cloaked hills. "What do you want?"

Thin cloth shifted behind him, whispering, and then a hand alighted on his shoulder. "I just came to talk to you. Can you blame me for wanting to know more about you? I make no secret of my motives."

"So you're scouting me out," he concluded with a sigh. "Finding out what kind of person I am. What my weaknesses are."

"Yes," she admitted. "But you're doing the same with me. And, unlike the others, I'm not going to make the mistake of assuming we're enemies."

He snorted at this, then shrugged her hand away and turned back to face her. "Why wouldn't we be? You're Lucavi."

Ruvelia smiled, ducked her head in a silent chuckle. "So? You're human."

He paused, studying the queen, reading her body language, but could learn little. She was relaxed, as before, but there was something... open about her posture. As though she were honest about not holding secrets, or at least hoping to present that impression, just a pretty woman standing in the rain. "If I were to slit your throat, you'd explode and turn into a demon."

Her teeth flashed in a quick smile. "Perhaps, but I assure you I'm also as human as you are. You can... verify that, if you'd like. And if I were to slit _your_ throat, you'd drop to the ground and die." She shook her head. "The mechanics don't matter, Ramza; people are only enemies if their goals conflict."

He narrowed his eyes. "So what are your goals?"

"I want to rule," she answered simply, spreading her hands. "I'm the Queen, and I like being in charge, having power over people. But to ensure that that happens, and continues to happen, it's going to require blood. Lots of blood." She paused, turning her face a hair to one side. "Now. What are _your_ goals?"

"I want to stop whoever's manipulating the war, pitting both sides against each other. And if those people have stones, I want to take them. Maybe destroy them afterwards."

Ruvelia squinted doubtfully at him. "Nobody _wants_ endless bloodshed, Ramza. It's just a means to an end. And this war is just about over anyway; soon the Nanten will march on Lesalia, and I'll beat them back there, break their power on my walls. So... there really might not be that much for you to do." She pursed her lips and shrugged. "This mess will sort itself out in short order with or without you. So why not relax? You could use it."

His lips writhed of their own accord. "Is this you pleading for your life? Trying to get me to leave you alone?"

She snorted, planted hands on her slim hips in a posture of scorn. "Hardly. I'm just pointing out the situation in a different light. Things have changed since you started what you're doing." As she spoke she drifted forward, trailed a finger down his shoulder before laying a hand on his arm. "And afterwards... well, you're a clear-thinking man who can get things done. I might have a position or two in mind for you."

"I'm sure." He scowled but didn't bother brushing her hand off; she would just touch him again, and it wouldn't do to look jumpy. "Is this what you came here for? To tease me? I thought a Lucavi would have more ambitious goals."

The queen chewed a lip, frowning thoughtfully at her hand on his arm before finally letting it drop. "In all honesty, I also thought I'd talk to you about your friend Delita."

_Great._ "What about him?"

"Did he tell you Orlandu truly is dead?" Dark eyes shifted to his own, unsmiling.

"No. Is he?"

"So I've heard." She gave her hair a toss, inspected a fingernail in the night shadows. "Killed at an inn in Zarghidas, I'm told."

He nodded. "And you probably want me to believe you had nothing to do with that."

"Of course," she snapped, glaring up at him. "Why would I bother having him killed? With him no longer commanding the Nanten he wasn't worth the effort anymore."

_That's probably true._ Shaking his head, Ramza shifted, staring off along the hills once more, not looking at her. "I've spoken with Delita twice in the last... year and a half. He hasn't mentioned it."

"Well, I thought you'd want to know." Ruvelia paused, and her rain-soaked silks whispered together as she stepped towards him. "But it seems someone in your camp is stirring, so I'm afraid our conversation is done for now. And Ramza," she added in a lower voice, sliding slim arms around his chest from behind, pressing herself against his back, "I may flirt, but I never tease." Her words were a breathy whisper in his ear. "I mean everything I say. Remember that until next time."

When he didn't answer, she slipped away. A moment later the scent of her perfume began to fade.

Ramza swallowed, aware of being watched; someone in the camp was awake. He knew without looking, through the rain, through the darkness, that it was Rafa.

* * *

Delita sat atop the new chocobo they'd found for him, a swift red one called Sol. All around him lay thousands of others, tens of thousands, carrying men and women who bristled with gleaming steel. The sun painted warm streaks through the haze of damp morning air, and blinded him whenever he let his gaze slide too far east. All the sounds of an army on the move -- warks and barked commands, shuffling boots, assorted coughing and sniffling -- drifted from every direction, creating a soft cacophony that wouldn't change much over the next week.

But none of that concerned him at the moment. What concerned him was the two people nearest him, in every way. Ovelia sat atop her own mount at his side, white-gloved hands gripping her reins, looking every inch the princess. In front of him, facing him, sat his sister, also mounted, clad in a dark grey dustcloak over her indigo dress. "You're sure you want to come?"

She smiled, and the gesture was echoed in her dark eyes. "Someone has to keep you out of trouble."

"Yeah," he countered, "but it'll be dangerous. You know, the war?" He waved a gauntleted hand vaguely at all the Nanten ready to march.

Teta made a face at this, then sighed, shifting her grip on Dardanos' reins. "Last night you said it would be safe. Why? Are you now planning to send me into battle?"

He smiled at her dry wit, but didn't have it in him to laugh at the idea of her possible death, even if it was her making the joke. "No. And I wouldn't be leaving enough people in Bethla to guarantee your safety anyway, so... good. I just wanted to make sure."

She rolled her eyes, then shuffled Dardanos around to fall in beside him. "Fine."

Nodding, Delita spared a narrow glance to his other side, where a smiling Ovelia was staring back at him. She smiled often these days, as though no horror of war could hurt her so long as he was there with her. And it was his job to make sure she stayed that way. "Are you ready?"

She ducked her head, spilling golden hair over her shoulders, and clutched her reins more tightly, but the smile never left her lips. "Yes."

He grinned at the side of her head. Then, twisting in the saddle to catch Blansh's eye from some ten paces away, he jerked a nod to summon the man.

As the officer threaded his chocobo through the circle of Nanten bodyguards, Delita adjusted one of his gauntlets. "It's time. Tell everyone it's time to march that way..." he paused, pointing northwest, "... and don't stop until we're choking Lesalia."

* * *

From a distance, Goland was little more than columns of grey smoke rising from a village nestled between snow-capped mountain peaks. Up close, it wasn't much different. Soot-stained buildings, icy streets, grim people bundled up in cheerless garments, who ducked their heads against drifting snow as they hurried along.

Ramza shuffled to a halt before the first inn they came across, a spartan place catering to the merchants who came to sell things to miners. Ignoring the wind-sting on his cheeks from five hours' travel through the highlands, he stared up through the snow at the chipped paint on the establishment's sign. No name, as even many merchants here couldn't read; just a mug next to a fork and knife.

Snow crunched underfoot as Agrias stopped beside him. "You want to stop here? It's barely midday."

He frowned at the sign before shifting the expression to her. "I want to find out some things. Get us a room."

The Holy Knight rolled sky-blue eyes and shouldered into the inn, followed by a weary Vector. Alicia glared at him as she strode past, while Jasmine simply seemed lost in thought. Rafa waited outside with him, patiently, until he wandered in and blinked away the afterimages of sun-glare on ice.

He let Agrias arrange the lodging, as usual, then followed the group up a set of creaking stairs to the only two cramped rooms that had been available. She ducked into one, then waited while everyone else filed in.

Ramza, last in line, heeled the door shut behind him, then eyed the others in the room's intimate dimness. After a moment he nodded at Vector. "I need to know if Orlandu's alive or dead. Can you poke around, see if you can figure it out from the rumors here?"

The man ran a hand through his sandy hair and offered a quick nod. "Yeah. But, uh...." He cleared his throat, shifted his feet, and offered a weak smile. "Why now? And why here? You... said Delita left him alive."

Ramza closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. "I'll explain later. Just go, if you can."

"Sure. No problem." Vector grinned again, then rolled lips between his teeth as he edged towards the door and through it.

After he was gone, Ramza shifted his gaze back to the others just staring back at him. "I want someone to scout Lesalia too. It's taken us long enough to get here that Delita and the Nanten should be close." That rumor had been on every tongue since Dorter, about the Nanten and Ovelia marching for Lesalia. The only surprising thing about it, in his mind, was that Delita had waited so long to move. "So I want to know what it's like in Lesalia. What the defenses are, what the mood is like and so on."

"I can go," declared Agrias with confidence, crossing arms over her chest. "I know it pretty well, and--"

"No." He cut her off with a curt gesture. "You're too recognizable there. Jasmine, you could go, and the rest of us could meet up with you in a day or two."

The spellcaster offered a sunny smile. "No problem. Anyone else?"

Alicia knuckled her lips, then nodded. "I'd rather go than wait here and do nothing." Pausing, she slid dark eyes towards Ramza. "Where do you want to meet up, Iceman?"

He shrugged. "The inn the rest of you stayed at last time is fine."

The redhead pondered this, then eyed Jasmine. "Anything we need, sunshine, or can we go?"

Jasmine shook her head. "We haven't even unpacked at all. Let's just go."

"Okay." Without another word Alicia shouldered past Agrias and pushed Ramza aside to reach the door. Jasmine followed, smiling apologetically, and then the room became substantially less crowded with only three people in it.

After a moment Agrias unfolded her arms and expelled a heavy sigh, blowing her cheeks out. "I ha--"

"We know you hate waiting," interrupted Ramza, claiming a seat on the edge of a narrow bed, watching as Rafa predictably joined him. "You'll live."

* * *

"General! It's the Princess!"

Delita whirled, staring at the squire so hard the boy nearly stumbled backwards out of the command tent. "What? Out with it!"

The squire swallowed. "She... she's been attacked, General. There were...."

Delita bolted past the boy without a word, leapt through the tent flaps and into the star-studded night. Ignoring all the soldiers turning to stare after him in surprise, he sprinted through the camp, leaping over campfires or sleeping people wherever necessary. There was shouting ahead, a cluster of knights around Ovelia's tent demanding a runner, a medic. Grimacing, he ran.

One of the officers at the royal tent straightened to give him a report on his arrival but Delita swept right past the man, pushing his way into the tent. What he saw froze the heart in his chest. Ovelia, a mass of silver and shadows, lying on her makeshift bed. Dark bloodstains covering her stomach, half her chest. Skin pale, eyes wide and frightened. She was shaking. One of the guards was inside, pressing a wad of bandages to a wound on her ribs, and five glowing crystals lay scattered around the tent's interior.

Delita darted to Ovelia's side, dropped to his knees beside her, but paid attention only to her wounds. "How bad is it?" he asked quietly.

The bodyguard, a freckled fellow called Drake, grunted and didn't look up from his ministrations. "Long gash, but it's shallow. Lot of blood."

Delita nodded. "Poison?"

"No."

Frowning, Delita watched the other man trying to staunch the bleeding, then shifted. Rested a hand on Ovelia's forehead, stared down at her. "This looks worse than it is. Don't worry; you'll be fine."

She nodded quickly, faintly, shifting golden hair on her pillow. "O... okay."

Delita stood, only to see Olan and a winded Teta push their way into the tent. His sister's eyes went wide as she stared at the wounded princess, while Olan merely remained silent for a moment before nodding.

Ignoring them for the moment, Delita addressed Drake again. "The crystals here... they were the assassins?"

Drake nodded. "Captain Nichol and a few others came in here and slashed them up. The rest just killed themselves, right then and there."

Delita stared at Ovelia, through her, and nodded. He'd expected assassination attempts, but now that one had come... she looked so fragile. His face went tight, and his hands clenched into quivering fists. _I'll destroy them. I'll crush them and burn them until nothing remains._ "Okay." Three long strides took him to the tent flaps. "Olan, find Nichol again and--"

His sister's voice stopped him. "Delita."

He scowled at her over his shoulder, but said nothing. She kept her silence as well and just stared at him, hands folded at her waist, eyes dark and narrow with displeasure.

After a moment he took a deep breath, then let it out and released the tent flaps. She was right. "Olan, you see to strengthening up our defenses. I'll be here for a while."

"Yes, General." The scarred man nodded once, then slipped out into the night.

Forcing his fists to relax, Delita drifted back towards Ovelia and her frightened eyes watching him. "How do you feel?"

She swallowed, pressed a shaking hand to her face. "It's... it feels cold." Her voice was small, almost childlike, like Teta's had been long years past when nightmares woke her.

He squatted down beside her bed, gripped one of her hands in his own. "Well, of course. It does get cold up here, especially at night. Are you too wimpy to take it?"

She snickered, then tensed, clenching at her stomach. "Stop it! Laughing hurts."

"Well, alright." He made a show of shrugging, of glancing casually off towards the tent flaps. She needed to feel unafraid more than she needed to avoid pain. "I mean, I could have more blankets brought for you, but the guards are so jumpy now they'd probably tackle the poor fellow bringing them here." Teta chuckled.

Ovelia laughed, then groaned. Her hand tightened on his. "Delita!"

* * *

"Majesty. The assassins have failed."

Twenty paces ahead, and three up, Ruvelia fanned herself on the lion-carved throne. The day was hardly warm enough to warrant such a thing, but with the countless layers of rainbow-dyed garments she wore, she was probably sweltering. Her eyes narrowed at this news, and she snapped the fan shut against one open palm. "Explain."

Zalbag suppressed a sigh. "The men I sent failed to report back after their mission, which included the order that they kill themselves should it fail. They're dead, and Ovelia is still alive."

"Damn it!" The queen leaned forward, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Try again, and send _competent_ men this time!"

"With all respect, my Queen, Delita Hyral knows what he's doing, and his defenses are very good. It will just require some time to--"

"We don't _have_ time, Zalbag!" she shouted, curling her pointing finger into a fist. Soft brown eyes flared, pinning him to the floor. "The Nanten are too close. If Ovelia isn't dead within ten days, _you're_ a dead man too."

He swallowed an angry retort and bowed his head, mostly to keep the distaste from his face. "As my Queen commands."

"Now get out of my sight!"

"As my Queen commands." Rising from his knees, Zalbag turned his back on the monarch and strode out of the throne room without another word.

* * *

Cold rain peppered Ramza's face. After leaving Goland, the snow had turned to rain and hadn't slowed at all. All around, decorating the lumpy hills south of Lesalia, trees and bushes stood still and sodden, simply enduring in place until the shell of grey above moved onto some other unfortunate place. The imperial capital itself lay just a half-mile northward, a collection of grey walls and alabaster towers rendered nearly invisible by the falling rain.

It hadn't taken Vector long to learn about Orlandu. His report had been both brief and disturbing. _Guy's dead. Poison. Innkeeper in Zarghidas found him in one of the rooms._ Brief for obvious reasons, and disturbing because it meant Ruvelia had fed him true information. _How much of the other stuff she says is true too? Then again, the best lies start with something true._ If, as she claimed, Delita had killed Orlandu, why spare his life only to kill him later? In Zarghidas? But then, why would she lie about such a thing? She'd probably been correct in saying Orlandu hadn't been a threat to her anymore. _Unless someone killed him for his stone._

No answers surfaced on the brief trek to the city's gates. Once there, the tower guards took a long, searching look at his party before waving everyone in. It seemed they were looking harder for Nanten than heretics, something Ramza had counted on, though he'd still donned a grey ninja facemask to be safe.

Once inside the walls, people and noise abounded. Merchants yelling, children running and screaming, the scraping of chocobo claws on paving stones. If the rain bothered anybody, they didn't show it. Ramza kept his face down and shuffled through the crowds with his companions.

The inn, the Imperial Star, was, like everything in Lesalia, not as grand as its name suggested. But neither was it a dive. Solid, serviceable and clean, with a spacious common room half-full of murmuring merchants and their lounging guards. The room's shutters remained open despite the rain outside, allowing in the occasional wet breeze.

Agrias spoke to somebody at the counter and lunch soon arrived at the table in the form of some spicy stew. Ramza ate and kept an eye on the rest of the room without trying to look like he was watching them. The Holy Knight did the same beside him, though without being furtive, while Rafa sat with her white-clad hip against his other side. Vector, for some reason, slouched with a hand half-combed through his hair, poking at his food. Perhaps the rain was making him sneezy again.

Nobody spoke, and none of the inn's other occupants spared them a second glance. When Alicia showed up a half-hour later, blood-red curls sodden and hanging, the other patrons ignored her too.

"Jasmine's been busy," she declared in a low voice as she claimed a spot at their table. Hard brown eyes shifted from face to face, meeting everyone's gaze. "She's charmed some royal guard into telling her things, and thinks he'll even let her into the palace if she asks."

Agrias blinked. "How?"

Alicia spared the other woman a flat scowl. "Smiles and cleavage, I think. I don't know. I tried not to watch."

Ramza peered into his empty mug of milk. "Good. Where is she now?"

"Hell if I know. Probably out buying potions, or getting another nose ring."

He nodded, then lifted his gaze to her, but she just blinked back, scowling, waiting for him to speak. "Any other news?"

Her lips curled in distaste. "You saw the gate guards. I estimate over five thousand soldiers on the walls at any given time. They could put another fifteen or so up there on demand, and there are probably forty thousand other reserves in the city. Nanten are... I'd say two days away, yet, from what I've heard. Also...." She trailed off, then shifted in her seat.

Ramza shot her a cold stare. "Spill it."

Alicia sighed, then scooted her chair forward and leaned over the table to speak. "Zalbag is commanding the defenses here. It's rumored he's not on good terms with Ruvelia." Glittering brown eyes watched him without expression.

He frowned. _Figures. Who the hell would be on good terms with that woman?_ "None of that is surprising."

Agrias elbowed him. "If the Queen's rubbing him the wrong way, he might be a possible ally. Right? If you're still intent on killing her, Zalbag could get you into the palace. All the way to the throne room, probably."

Alicia flinched and shook her head. "I can't believe a bodyguard said that."

Agrias fixed her former subordinate with an unblinking stare. "She's Lucavi, Alicia."

"Oh, I know. It just sounded--"

"I'm not killing anyone in a throne room," sighed Ramza. "But, Agrias, you're right. I can probably use Zalbag. Anyone have writing materials?"

Vector blinked and jerked his head up. "Writing materials? What for?"

"You think I'm going to walk in there and ask to see him? No. I'm writing a letter." Zalbag would likely fold and tell Ruvelia all about it if she asked. _But what does it matter? She knows I'm coming anyway._

The ninja nodded, then scraped back his chair and stood. "No problem. I'll be right back."

* * *

In the tight confines of a seldom-used briefing room, tucked away in the upper levels of the palace, Zalbag stood facing six other men by the dim light of a single flickering candle. "Do anything to kill her," he instructed quietly. "Poisons, hostages, collateral damage, whatever. This is your Queen's will, and it must be done. Do you understand?"

The assassins' squad leader, a hard and stubble-cheeked veteran calling himself Ghostblade, nodded deeply, almost a bow. "You got it, my lord."

Zalbag nodded back. "Go now. For Ivalice."

"For Ivalice." Ghostblade saluted, as did his men, and then the assassins were slipping out into the unlit hallway, making no sound as they moved.

Once he was alone, Zalbag licked his fingers and snuffed the candle. Thick darkness fell, fading only gradually as his eyes grew accustomed to the faint light filtering in through the doorway from some distant lamp. _I'm a knight, but I skulk around in the darkness now._ The thought should have bothered him, should have twisted his guts and riled his outrage, but he felt curiously little.

Frowning, head tilted, he stepped into the hallway and made his way down it, towards a more brightly-lit intersection. The floor, like the walls, were stone, smooth silver and hard as nails. Much like the people _walking_ on that floor, between those walls.

This late in the night, the Queen would be long done with court for the day. As such he ascended through the palace to her private dining chambers, where she'd be whiling away the evening hours getting half-drunk and making the serving boys uncomfortable. A handful of plate-mailed guards he passed on the way saluted him, and the servants all bowed or curtsied. Zalbag acknowledged their courtesies distantly, half-heartedly; his mind wouldn't quite focus on their words, nor his eyes on their faces.

The guards at her doors, brightly-armored, ceremonial men, bowed and admitted him. He nodded and stepped past them without a word.

Ruvelia's dining chamber was, like everything else about her, irreverent and inappropriate. Noble marble floor and walls, but draped gaudily with the colors she favored today, eye-wrenching crimson and green. Beautiful masterwork chandeliers, but only half-lit, providing the sultry dimness in which she probably thrived. A polished mahogany table, with solid matching chairs carved fit for the kings they were meant to seat, only the chairs were in disarray and the Queen herself was sprawled in one with her feet propped up on another. She'd changed out of her formal clothes and into a sheer violet nightgown that barely would have kept her decent even with proper posture. Not something a queen should wear. The three young serving boys in attendance, pressed against the walls, seemed to agree, judging by their red faces and averted eyes. Always boys; Ruvelia would never let a girl see her in such a state, would never give the boys someone else to compare her to.

_She is without merit._ The thought drifted up from somewhere. Zalbag suspected it should make him ashamed, to think so of his ruler, but it filtered through his smoky conscience without leaving a mark. _She is an empty human being. Refuse wrapped in skin._ "My Queen."

She glanced back over one shoulder, then nodded, swirling a crystal goblet in one hand. Her cheeks were rosy, flushed from the wine. "Zalbag. What news?" Her words, despite her state, were crisp and precise as only a lifelong drinker could make them.

Waiting as the guards in the hall drew the doors shut, Zalbag kept his gaze steady on his sovereign's dark eyes. Not a difficult task, as the expected temptation to let them drift was absent. _As well to ogle a bag of scorpions as her._ "This should be private."

Ruvelia sighed, an irritated sound, and waved the servants away with a casual flick of one wrist. The boys bowed and complied with alacrity, probably relieved at no longer having to choose between being executed for flirting with the Queen and being executed for _not_ flirting with her. "What is it?"

Once they were alone, Zalbag bowed his head. "I've sent another team of assassins after Ovelia, Your Grace. They have instructions to use any and all means to ensure her death."

"Good." The Queen sipped from her wineglass, then scooted back in her chair, sitting upright. "You'd better hope they fucking succeed this time. Otherwise, we'll see how you like commanding the kitchens, rather than the armies."

"Yes, My Queen. Is there anything else?"

"No. Get lost."

"Yes, My Queen." Bowing, Zalbag turned and strode for the doors, through them.

In the relative brightness of the hallways he made for his own suite, not far away. _Assassins. Poisons. What would father have done?_ A silly question; the answer was that Balbanes _wouldn't_ have done. He'd have convinced the Queen somehow that assassination was a bad choice, unlikely to succeed or perhaps inviting dire costs down the line, and she'd have accepted it, moved onto something else more humane, unaware she'd been manipulated for the better.

_I'm no Balbanes._ Again the thought felt like it should hurt but his eyes stared straight ahead without blinking, without flinching. _No Dycedarg, either; he'd be able to shrug off the questions, the guilt. All for the glory of the Beoulves. But then, Dycedarg is dead. Dead for his sins and his cowardice._

On reaching his rooms, plush rooms, given for his loyal service to the crown, Zalbag pushed the door quietly shut and then simply stood in the dark. Thin starlight angling in through the open windows provided the only light, leaving the blood-red floor rug ugly and curdled.

_She's just a girl. How long will she suffer from the poison before it takes her?_ In the dimness he opened his hands, examined them, but they were clean. Physically. _It'll be even worse than it was for Alma, won't it? At least her death was quick. Painless._

For some reason a chuckle bubbled up through his throat and lips, quickly growing to a low, grating laugh. Shaking his head, still laughing, he stepped to his four-posted bed and yanked the sheets off. A moment's work left them twirled into a line in his hands. A rope.

It was a simple matter to climb atop the bed, to tie the sheet to the rafters and then his neck. As he inched towards the edge, he couldn't clear the smile from his face. The world had changed, or else had never been what he'd been fighting for it to be.

After tugging the makeshift noose tight, as he stood one step away from oblivion, he ran his eyes once more around the room, all the fine things given to him, most of which he didn't even want or need. _Useless things. The wages of sin._ "For Ivalice."

* * *

The door to the inn room burst open to admit a panting Jasmine. "Ramza," she breathed, heeling the door shut, "it's Zalbag. He's dead."

Rafa gazed wide-eyed at the spellcaster, then turned her gaze to her lover, seated beside her on the floor. Ramza, for his part, merely paused in the act of writing his letter and blinked. "Zalbag's dead?"

Jasmine's olive face contorted into a pained grimace and she nodded. "Suicide, apparently. Last night. The whole palace is gossiping about it." She paused, and her expression turned sympathetic, her eyes concerned. "I'm sorry."

He frowned at her, then at the letter he'd been writing. "Oh. Well... no need for this, I guess." With a sigh he grabbed the thing, crumpled it into a ball.

Rafa reached to touch his knee. "Ramza... is there anything you need?" Jasmine, hovering near the door, nodded as though including herself in the offer.

Ramza gave his head a slow shake. "No. I just... just have to go back to breaking into the palace now. Unless your fellow can help with that, Jasmine."

The priestess thinned her lips. "No, he... doesn't have access to the keys, apparently. So I've started looking for someone else."

Ramza nodded slowly, like he wasn't listening; his hazel eyes gazed inward but lacked any apparent regret. "Okay."

When he didn't answer further, Rafa glanced up at Jasmine and shrugged. The other woman took a deep breath, exhaled, then made a face as she slipped back out into the hallway, leaving them alone. Agrias was holed up in her own room, while Vector was still out on the town doing... whatever it was he did.

Long moments stretched even longer before Rafa finally touched Ramza again. "Can I help at all? I'm here."

"No." Flat eyes in a blank face slid to meet her gaze. "I'm fine."

"Okay. You want to be alone?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Then I'll be in my room." Smiling, she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, then stood and left him to his grief. Such as it was.

* * *

Evening came and went, surrendering to night which left his room nearly pitch-black. Not that he could see much of it anyway, with his eyes closed and his arm flung over his face as he lay on the bed.

_Zalbag's dead. And I wasn't the one to kill him._ The thought was a distant one, a mere annoyance, but rather than feel irritated all he felt was tired. Worn. _Everyone dies. Everyone dies and it all stops mattering._

He sighed into the empty room. Empty and silent but for muted yelling and singing from the common room below.

Some time later, a familiar perfume tickled his awareness. "Ruvelia," he whispered without opening his eyes.

"Hmm. There's no sneaking up on you, is there?" She kept her voice low, pitched not to carry.

"You flatter me."

"Hardly." Silk whispered and air stirred as she stepped towards him. "A man such as yourself all alone in bed is a travesty, Ramza."

He shrugged.

After a moment the mattress shifted as Ruvelia put weight on it, and then she was climbing over him to claim a spot beside him, lying between him and the wall. Cool fingers touched his cheek, slid down to his jaw.

He sighed. "Vector might come back here at any moment, you know."

"Oh," murmured the queen. "Your friend? The sneaky one? I doubt it."

"Why?"

"I had him ambushed," she breathed, stretching languidly before settling against him. "But by fools. He should be able to handle himself, but I imagine he'll lay low for a while afterwards, making sure he doesn't lead any enemies back to this inn."

Ramza shook his head. "You plan ahead."

"Of course. You have to plan ahead to get all the things you want." Her fingers slid, tracing a line down his neck to his collarbone, where she toyed with the neck of his shirt.

He grunted, finally pulling the arm from his face, though afterwards he only stared up at the shadowed ceiling. "I'm sure."

"Mmm." Ruvelia shifted again, inching closer. "Zalbag is dead, you know." Her whispering breath was warm on the side of his neck. "Killed himself."

Ramza nodded slowly, tiredly. "I know."

"I do regret that, you know," she continued, sighing. "He had his uses, but he wasn't cut out to handle the stress of a position in the heights."

His gave his lips a twist, let his eyes slide shut. "That's probably true."

The queen didn't answer this, instead just touched him and tickled his skin with her breath. Eventually she shifted, half-curling into a ball, pressing her knees against his hip.

He swallowed and opened his eyes again. "I... heard about Orlandu. He really is dead."

"Ramza." Her voice was husky and amused, almost chiding. "Did you really think I'd lie to you?"

He rolled his head along the pillow to face her. "Who has his stone now?"

Ruvelia gazed back at him, wide eyes nothing but pools of shadow. "Honestly?" Her hand slid back up to his face, cupped his cheek, as her thumb traced the lines of his lips. "I have no idea. I didn't have him killed, and I didn't take his stone. Delita, perhaps."

Ramza pondered this, then scowled. "Why should I believe you didn't just have him killed?"

"Because it would cost me effort, and gain me nothing." Her eyes slid wistfully half-shut, and she placed a kiss on the thumb she'd used to rub his own lips. In a moment, though, it was back, tugging his lower lip down, touching his teeth. She tasted like rose petals and smelled like seduction.

"That's... true," he whispered, "if you're speaking as a queen. But as a Lucavi, you'd want his stone."

Her lips curved into a patient smile, then planted a lingering kiss on his jawline. "If I had his stone, I'd know where it was, wouldn't I?" Her eyes were closed now and she spoke in a soft, breathy whisper, directly into his ear.

He swallowed and shut his own eyes. "If... if you really didn't do it, Vormav might have. With Orlandu out of power, he'd want that stone back."

"Possibly." Her lips paused on the corner of his own, letting her breath warm his cheek, before peeling slowly away. "We don't talk much. Certainly not enough to coordinate every little assassination." One hand slid into his hair, massaging the back of his skull, as she shifted to place a kiss on his upper lip. "But then, I'm not vouching for Vormav's goodwill. Only my own."

Ramza drew a deep breath, then exhaled sharply. "But... you're part of the same... same team. I can't--"

"Hush," she whispered, now kissing his lower lip. "Orlandu was a man of power, and power breeds enemies. There are hundreds of people who might have wanted him dead." Another kiss, a direct one, bringing the feel of her tongue against his teeth. "So I think it's best to learn more about the matter before flinging accusations around. Don't you?" She smiled again, curving lips against his own, and opened her mouth for a deeper, hungrier kiss, inhaling as she did so.

Before he knew what he was doing, he'd opened his mouth to allow the queen greater access. But then he paused, drawing back, frowning as he tried to think.

"Ramza," she breathed between kisses, "women don't like a tease." As she spoke she slid her hand down to his own, then gripped it and pressed his knuckles against the smooth silk covering her flat stomach. A thin ribbon brushed his fingers, hanging from where it was tied into a little bow, holding her diaphanous robe together.

He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily into her cheek as she peppered kisses down his cheek and neck. His fingers curled into a fist around the ribbon, a reflexive move.

Ruvelia smiled again, dimpling her cheeks into the skin of his neck, and her roaming hands slid up under his shirt to trace absent designs on his stomach. Her skin was cool, her kisses soft, her breasts small but pressed against his shoulder.

His heart was pounding now, almost panicked; he could feel it in the roof of his mouth. Her lips paralyzed him like poison, burned away his will to fight, and her fingertips were so very gentle on his skin, almost as soft and smooth as the silk she wore. The silk of the ribbon between his fingers.

He pulled, slowly. Pulled until the bow popped loosely apart without so much as a whisper.

Ruvelia hummed into his neck, a pleased sound, and slid her lips back to his own, hot, insistent, demanding. She was a good kisser, better than him, but he made up for it as best he could with sheer ferocity.

Somehow she got on top of him, holding him down as her lips drew out the hunger in him. His hand slid into her robe, around her back, and obligingly she lifted her arms, allowing him to pull them free. The garment rustled almost silently down over her back, off of her altogether and onto his thighs. Without breaking her kiss, the queen rolled over, pulling him along with her, almost grappling, and made short work of his own clothes.

Time passed. Ramza acquired a set of bite marks and the sheets grew rumpled beyond recognition.

Afterwards, she collapsed and he did too, lying on her back, staring at the wall. He could feel the rapid rise and fall of her breath, feel it push him up and down.

Eventually she tucked a strand of hair behind one ear and spoke without glancing back at him. "Was that good?"

He swallowed. "Very good."

"Mmm. Do you want more?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and said nothing. She was... adventurous. Impure. She'd probably do things Rafa would never dream of.

When he didn't answer, she squirmed out from under him and rolled to her feet. Silk rustled as she retrieved her robe from the floor and began to don it. "Make sure to ask Delita about Libra, Ramza. See what he says."

He didn't answer. After a moment the room went silent, empty.

Drawing a shaky breath, Ramza rolled onto his back and grabbed the bedsheets, drew them up over his body, over his head.

It was a long time, a very long time, before sleep found him.

* * *

By silver starlight Delita made his way back to his tent, angling around doused fires, threading between the blanket-clad forms of sleeping soldiers. Sometimes his command meetings went late. Ovelia would already be asleep, of course -- she tended to nod off shortly after dusk -- and Teta probably would be as well, although it--

He froze with one hand on the tent flaps, looking inside. Somebody was there. A Shrine Knight.

Rofel turned at his arrival and nodded. In the darkness of the tent interior his aqua-blue robe and hood looked almost black. "Delita. Long time no see."

Delita frowned, then stepped inside and let the tent flaps fall shut, throwing the two of them into near-complete blackness. "What the hell do you want?"

"Hmm." Whispering footsteps advanced towards him, slowly, and stopped outside of sword reach. "I have a gift for you."

"Do you think I'm a fool?"

"Hardly." Cloth rustled and then metal clicked onto something hard. "Do you want Libra? I know of no safer place to keep it."

Delita hesitated, gauging the distance between himself and the other man, aware of the weight of the sword hanging from his hip. Then, changing his plans, he straightened, crossed arms over his chest. "I thought Cid had that."

"He's dead. It's yours now, if you want it."

"Did you kill him?"

"I did not."

Delita shook his head. "You should know better than to think I'm going to go along with your plans, you know. Whatever they are. We're still enemies."

The Shrine Knight's gravelly voice issued a chuckle. "This gift is unconditional, Delita. Do with it as you please."

_I'm sure._ Still, the idea had merit; while he'd rather grab a red-hot iron than a Zodiac stone, Ramza had been carrying several around for months without any apparent difficulties. Difficulties stemming from the stones, at least. Directly. _He'll want this one. I could save him some trouble._ "Yeah, sure."

Footsteps whispered closer, and one black shadow among many extended an arm to him. "The Church of Glabados thanks you."

Delita swiped the stone from the man's hand and tucked it into his coat. "Get the hell out of my tent. If I ever see you again, I'll kill you."

"A pleasure to see you, too." Rofel chuckled again and something _shifted._ He was gone.

Sighing, Delita shrugged out of his coat and let it drop to the floor, Libra and all. He didn't want the damn thing anywhere near him while he slept.

* * *

_A/N: Before sending me your well-deserved flames, allow me a brief explanation. I'm the jealous type, and I hate, absolutely hate, with the blinding white-hot intensity of a thousand suns, scenes in which characters cheat on each other, so I feel like a damn hypocrite for having written one here. However, the plot and the characterization both demand it, and it needs to happen. If there are others of you out there who share this quirk of mine, know that I completely understand._

_Or maybe nobody cares at all, and I'm making a mountain out of a molehill. Enh, whatever. Stay tuned for future updates, as we're getting close to the end here._


	13. Sympathy for the Devil

_In the desert  
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,  
Who, squatting upon the ground,  
Held his heart in his hands,  
And ate of it.  
I said, "Is it good, friend?"  
"It is bitter -- bitter", he answered,  
"But I like it  
Because it is bitter,  
And because it is my heart."_  
-- Stephen Crane, "In the Desert"

Chapter Thirteen: Sympathy for the Devil

"Ramza," began Ruvelia with a broad smile, "is under control." As she spoke, she traced a thumbnail around her neck, then gripped an imaginary leash leading away from it.

Vormav grunted, rubbing an eyebrow. Whatever the woman proclaimed about the Beoulve kid, he had his doubts. He'd surprised enough of their peers to warrant that much respect, at least. "What's he doing now?" A stiff breeze from outside his study swirled in through the window, pushing his hair around and rippling Ruvelia's dark rose-patterned dress before fading.

"He's after Delita. Like a trained hound after the weakest gazelle in the pack."

"That's not really a fitting comparison." But if she'd managed to misdirect him for the time being, so much the better. There was always the chance Ramza and Delita might actually end up destroying each other, but it was far too slim to plan on.

Ruvelia shrugged, un-crossing her legs before crossing them the other way, and stared out the window, seemingly bored. "Believe what you want, Vormav. For all you know I might be lying to you anyway."

"True." He paused, thinking, keeping his hands still on the arm of his chair. "But regardless, I'm counting on you to deal with him while I find the host body. You can kill him or take him for a lover for all I care, so long as he's not in the way."

"Mmm." The queen wrinkled her lips, then sighed through her nose. Her eyes, mild and brown, continued staring out the window, and she gave no indication of having heard what he'd said.

Vormav sighed as well, then pushed himself to his feet. "Whatever. I have work to do and so do you." As he spoke he reached under his cloak and pulled out gleaming Virgo, a hard but almost-unnoticeable weight in his mailed hand.

"Ohhhh." Ruvelia groaned, a put-upon gesture, and stretched lazily before settling back into her chair. "I hate work."

He fixed her with a level stare. "I hope, for your sake, you hate dying more."

Her lips quirked but her eyes didn't bother meeting his own. "Let's not be so grumpy, Vormav. Not a morning person, are you?"

He frowned and shifted away, to another place, without answering. Perhaps Ruvelia Atkascha had not been an ideal host for Capricorn.

* * *

Ramza sat slumped in his chair, head resting in his hand and fingers combed through his hair. A half-eaten bowl of porridge lay in front of him on the table, sad, bland and growing cold. The first half hadn't set well in his stomach, but that might well have been on account of the mere hour of sleep he'd gotten the night before. Nothing but tossing and turning and sharp pains in his mind. He'd woken up sweating and cursing aloud at one point, but Vector still hadn't returned from his jaunt into the city.

Alicia's fist thumped into his shoulder. "Aren't you gonna eat, Iceman? You look like hell's whipping boy." Elsewhere in the inn's common room other people were chatting, laughing, doing normal people things.

"Couldn't sleep." Now his shoulder hurt in addition to his stomach, but the pain was nowhere near a fitting punishment. On his other side, Rafa shifted but said nothing. He was certain she _knew_, or at least suspected something. But she hadn't said a word.

"Oh?" Alicia snorted. "What does not sleeping have to do with not eating? You're a damn idiot."

Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, then lifted his head to fix the redhead with a flat stare. "What do you care?"

She scowled, freckled nose wrinkling in sour disapproval, and punched him in the chest. "I don't want you to be a burden. If you can't carry your own weight, no one's going to do it for you."

He swallowed a sharp retort and instead shifted his attention back to his porridge. "It's not like I'm going to let myself collapse from hunger." When Alicia didn't answer, he resumed eating, forcing the cheerless substance down. Rafa remained by his side and touched his knee from time to time, which just made things worse.

Just as he was finishing, Agrias dropped into a chair on the other side of the table, hair damp and smelling of soap. "Alright. Ramza, how are you doing? I know you and Zalbag sort of had a falling-out, but you--"

"I'm fine." Letting his spoon clatter into the empty bowl, he pushed the thing away and planted his head in his hand once more. "Just tired."

She nodded slowly, shifting golden hair that was starting to curl as it dried. "Yeah. So I see. Well, since we're not traveling you can probably afford to take a nap later or something."

He turned his head to regard her with disdain. _What am I, an old man?_ "No. I want to leave the city. Go out to the army and talk to Delita."

The three women exchanged silent glances around the table. Then Agrias shifted and frowned at him. "Why?"

"Why not? Wouldn't you want to know what he was planning?"

The Holy Knight spread her hands in baffled exasperation. "He's starting a siege. What else is there to know? It's a pretty straightforward process."

Ramza shrugged and averted his gaze. "I'm going. You can come with me or stay here."

"Oh, fine. I'll come with you." She sighed tightly, annoyed, and folded arms over her as-yet-unarmored chest.

"Anyway," muttered Alicia, stretching where she sat, "where's Vector?"

Ramza let his eyes slide shut. "Sleeping. He didn't get back until almost dawn."

"Seriously?"

"Mmm."

"You think he found a girl or what?"

Ramza rubbed his forehead. "He was attacked."

"Oh. Figures."

"What about Jasmine?" Agrias' voice was low and without humor.

"She already went out into the city," murmured Rafa, poking at the table surface. "Trying to find a way into the palace."

Nobody answered, and Ramza sat with his head in his hand until a serving girl came to claim his empty bowl and bring a full one for Agrias. The interruption seemed to serve as a break in the tension, allowing the two St. Konoe women to chat in low voices afterwards.

Soon he was back upstairs, in the room Jasmine and Rafa shared. Sitting on the floor, back against one of the beds. Waiting. It was a familiar view: inn room, shuttered windows closed to avoid recognition, just a line of sunlight sneaking in and somehow falling right across his eyes to blind him. Three games of chess against Alicia and three losses. Eventually Vector awoke and joined them, followed shortly by a worn Jasmine who had nothing to report.

Just after dusk he walked unmolested out of the city, accompanied by Agrias and Jasmine. It was an awkward choice of companions; Rafa had clearly wanted to join him but he'd flatly refused her. Too much chance that she'd read something into his mannerisms or somehow divine his secret just from being in his presence. But while he'd wanted to take Alicia in addition to Agrias, that would have left Jasmine back at the inn to gossip freely with Rafa about him.

He grimaced through the steady rainfall, then wiped water from his face as he walked along the twilight-shadowed road. _Politics. This is disgusting, even for me._

Even in the dark it wasn't hard to find a besieging army, and he did so in short order. It was a hilltop ocean of men and chocobos, of rainfall ticking off hard metal, rife with the smoke of forges and campfires despite the weather. Someone, some officer, challenged him as they were still climbing over trampled grass and muddy ground, well short of the perimeter of the actual camp, but Jasmine responded to the man and then they were moving again. Escorted. The officer brought them to another, and another, and somehow Jasmine kept talking her way onward.

Thus, a mere quarter-hour after bring discovered by Delita's army, Ramza found himself alone with the man himself in a spacious command tent, without anyone but his old friend having learned his identity. Silently he credited Jasmine; there was no way anyone else could have managed such feat.

"What do you want?" Delita spoke quietly, with clipped words, and crossed his arms over his chest. "This isn't like a castle where there are walls to hide you from everyone else. Thousands of people saw you come here."

Ramza waved the other man's trivial concerns away. The only light in the tent was a single bronze lamp, flickering through its glass plates as though low on oil, and it left the tent's interior a wash of warm, sinister shadows. Not that there was much to see anyway, just a table and five wooden folding chairs. Delita wasn't one to keep things he didn't need. "What do you know about Orlandu?"

The other man blinked, then narrowed dark eyes in sly calculation. "What do _you_ know about him? And why?"

Face tight, Ramza stepped towards his friend and met his gaze flatly. "I don't know anything, and I asked you first. If you're just going to counter questions with questions, I'm leaving."

Silence stretched for long moments until finally Delita laughed, unfolding his arms as he turned to shuffle to the table, where stacks of maps lay in hasty disarray. "Alright, fair enough. I heard he was killed." As he spoke, he reached to ruffle through the crisply-inked paper and parchment until he found one labeled _Zeltennia_. "No idea who did it, though there are only a few names worth considering."

Ramza nodded, crossing to join the other man at the table, frowning down at the dot representing Zarghidas. "I heard the same."

Delita chuckled. "So you did know something."

Ignoring the jibe, Ramza spoke without lifting his gaze from the map. "Did you kill him?" Rain drummed a constant hiss against the roof of the tent, and likely served to ward their words against eavesdroppers.

"Are you kidding me? I went out of my way to save his life." Delita sighed, then shook his head. "Anyway, why did you want to know about Orlandu?"

Ramza twisted his lips. "I... heard from someone about him, and wanted to see if it was actually true."

"Oh?" Delita turned to lean against the table, ignoring how it shifted under his armored weight, and donned a smug grin. "From 'someone,' huh? Who?"

Hesitating, Ramza met his friend's gaze for a long moment, thinking. Then he nodded. "Ruvelia."

The other man blinked, then made a face. "Interesting."

"You have no idea."

"I'm sure." Shaking his head, Delita started tugging his gold-plated gauntlets off. "What did she want with you?"

"She was trying to turn me against you, suggesting that maybe you'd killed Orlandu. I doubted her but I figured I'm come here and ask. Watch your reaction."

"Ah." Setting his gauntlets aside, Delita frowned at them for a moment, then snorted and rummaged around inside his cloak. "Funny thing: Rofel was here last night."

"Rofel? The Shrine Knight?" Ramza tilted his head, keeping a cautious eye on the other man's hands; was he going for a weapon? His manner was too casual.

"Do you know of any other Rofel? Yes, it was him. He came to give me this." Finally Delita produced something from an inner pocket of his cloak and held it out for inspection. Something small and beautiful and with an unmistakable glitter, even in the dim light.

Ramza fought the urge to sigh as he spotted the crest on the Zodiac stone. "Libra. Great." He scowled. "So the Shrine Knights probably killed Orlandu." _Unless Delita did, just to frame them._

"It would seem so." Delita watched him a moment longer, dark eyes unreadable, before thrusting the stone in his direction. "Aren't you going to take it?"

"What? You don't want it?"

"Good lord. Why would I?"

"Fine." Ramza swiped the thing from his friend's hand and tucked it into a belt pouch, where it clinked into place among his coins and other odds and ends.

"I accepted that thing from him just to give it to you, you know," murmured Delita, heaving himself from the table. "So use it wisely."

"I'm not going to promise that." Frowning, Ramza stared at his open hand before regarding the other man once more. "Why don't you want it, though?"

Delita grimaced. "At best it would be a distraction. It's not necessary to my goal of putting Ovelia on the throne, so why the hell would I bother? I can see the trouble they've brought you, and I have no interest in visiting that on myself as well." He paused, then lifted an eyebrow. "But more importantly, if you talked to Ruvelia, why did you let her live?"

"I'm not an assassin." _No matter what Rafa says. She can be wrong, sometimes._ "And I thought I could learn something useful from her."

"Hmm." Delita pondered this, then grunted. "I don't know what you hoped to learn from her, but why not hurry up and kill her? You want her stone, don't you?"

Ramza fixed his friend with a level stare. "You can go to hell, Delita. I want her stone but I'm not working for you."

"Fine, fine." Delita shook his head. "But be aware she's probably thinking about taking your stones too. So I'd keep that in mind as you chat it up with our lovely queen."

Ramza let the scorn touch his face as he met Delita's eyes. "I'm leaving."

"Alright. We'll speak again."

Without acknowledging the other man's parting words, Ramza spun and strode out of the tent, into the night and the rain, to where his friends were waiting for him.

* * *

_Fuckin' Ramza._ Meliadoul's face was tight and her steps brisk as she strode up a broad stone stairway in the Knights' temple in Murond. It was cool inside, and the space was open and airy, but her skin still felt caked with sun-baked dust and dried sea spray. Probably because it was. _Ramza. Robbing me, leaving me hog-tied in a meadow in the middle of fucking nowhere._ That had been four days ago, and her wrists still hurt from the damn rope. After escaping she'd actually kept the thing for a while, hoping to strangle him with it one day, before finally discarding the idea as too impetuous. She'd kill him properly, with her sword. Once she got a new one from the Knights. _God damn it._

Reaching the top of the stairway, she ignored the side corridors and stalked straight ahead, towards a plain wooden door she knew well. A pair of Knight Blade guards stood outside and regarded her with dark scowls, but neither made a move to stop her as she heaved open the door without knocking and strode inside.

Her father, as expected, was seated at his desk, jotting something down in a journal while Balk lounged in one of the other chairs. Both men's eyes lifted to acknowledge her entry, and while her father simply went back to his journal, the engineer snickered. "Meliadoul, huh? Ran off without orders, did you? Daddy's girl's in trouble!" He almost sang the last few words, like a mocking child.

"Shut the hell up, Balk." She spoke without taking her eyes off her father. "I'm not in the mood to put up with you right now."

"What was that?" The engineer's voice dropped to a taunting murmur as he rose to his feet, tugging his charcoal-grey robe tight with slow, deliberate movements. "I'd advise you to watch your tongue with me, you little brat. It's only because you're--"

"That's enough, Balk." Her father's voice, as always, was low and even; he spoke without glancing up, instead wiping his pen clean before setting it carefully into an oaken case. "I will speak with Meliadoul alone. You can finish your report later."

Balk scowled at this but shortly hitched his shoulders. "Fine." Whirling, he strode past Meliadoul, shouldering her out of the way on his way out the door, which thumped shut after him.

"He was right, though," continued her father, twisting a cork into his vial of ink. "You ran off and were gone for weeks. I require an explanation."

She sighed, slumping, and threw herself into the wooden armchair Balk had just vacated. "I went after Ramza Beoulve, to kill him."

"Oh?" Her father blinked at this, finally lifting his dark eyes to regard her sharply. "You're still alive, I see."

Meliadoul bristled at the insult but covered her irritation with a grimace. "I had him on the ground, stabbed through the belly, and was about to finish him off before his team knocked me out."

"Of course." Vormav shrugged, leaning back in his chair, still watching her like a hawk despite his mild expression. "If you attack one on six you should expect to lose."

"Oh, come on. I attacked at night, when everyone was sleeping except for... look, that's... that's not the point." She rubbed her forehead, unable to meet his gaze. What she'd seen in Limberry had set doubts curdling in her heart, and while she wasn't going to accept the word of a heretic at face value, her eyes hadn't lied. Her father owed her an explanation. "I saw Elmdor, in Limberry."

"Oh? How was he? Recovered from the sick spell that was affecting him a few weeks back, I trust?"

She scowled at the hard stone floor; he knew more than he was letting on. "Father, he was... he turned into a demon. I saw it with my own eyes. Said it was the power of the Holy Stone."

"Hmm." The silence drew her eyes grudgingly to him, but he was just sitting there, frowning at her in what looked like mild disappointment. "That seems rather far-fetched."

Her fists clenched. "He said you knew, Father. He said you were one of them. Something about a... a host. A member of darkness."

Her father leaned forward in his chair, brows furrowing in noble concern. "Are you sure you're feeling well, daughter? If you took any head wounds in the scuffle with Ramza's people, you--"

"Cut it out, Father. What are the stones, anyway? What are they being used for? Will I...." She paused, licking her lips. "Will Sagittarius do something like that to me?"

He frowned at her a moment longer, but she sensed he was thinking, weighing some choice or other. Eventually he nodded and settled back in his chair. "The holy stones are instruments of God's will. Through them, one can merge with the heavenly."

_Heavenly? _"Are you _kidding me_? Zalera was a _demon_, Father. I've read the old texts and I'm not making that part up. How is that heavenly?"

He sighed, letting his head drop and his silver-black hair fluff forward, a gesture of apparent regret. "True, it's difficult to explain to one such as you, but suffice it to say the stones are required for a great plan. An epic plan."

"One such as... wait, what plan?" Her hands were gripping the handles of the chair now, her knuckles white. "What are you talking about?"

Her father shrugged as though the matter were of only passing interest. "The resurrection of Saint Ajora, of course."

"_What?_"

"You heard me." His voice remained even, unconcerned. "One of the texts in Orbonne contained a spell we can use to open the way to another plane, where Ajora's soul can be placed into the body of a living host. A host Virgo must choose."

"Virgo...?" She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to think; none of this made any sense. This wasn't what the Church taught. "Is... was Elmdor... party to this plan?"

"Of course."

"Father, why is... why does Saint Ajora have... demons? Doing these things?"

He chuckled, a sound that made her skin crawl. "Demons? What a... childish word. The Zodiac Braves are holy messengers."

"Like... like you are."

"Yes."

_He really is one of them. A demon._ She licked her lips, torn, opening her eyes once more to study him, to see if he was joking, but he just sat there waiting for an answer.

Eventually he frowned again. "Meliadoul... daughter... I'm telling you these things because I trust you. You're my own flesh and blood. And we Shrine Knights are a holy order with secrets no others may be allowed to learn. Do you understand?"

_Is he... threatening me?_ "If... Father, if you have this kind of power, this kind of... look, the war out there is horrible. Wouldn't... I mean, wouldn't God want it to... be over? Couldn't you convince the High Priest to negotiate a settlement, or...."

"No." The word was firm, as curt as she'd ever heard him speak towards her. "The war is part of the plan. Blood is required for the resurrection."

"What? No." She swallowed, staring wide-eyed at the man... the thing... seated at her father's desk. "You can't... that's... that's not something you can just go _do_."

His eyes narrowed. "Are you opposing me? Opposing God's will?"

"No! I just... this isn't...." She paused to take a deep breath, hoping to steady her shaking body. "So you're actually in favor of this? Of... prolonging the war, making the bloodshed worse? That's something you _want?_"

"The Blood Angel requires it." He shrugged, but his eyes were dark augers boring their way through her heart. "Power comes from the blood of the innocent."

"No. No. That's not something my father would say." She was on her feet, she realized, standing in place and clenching her fists so hard they hurt.

Her father -- no, the demon -- stood as well, regarding her flatly. Golden lamplight flickered over his stony features. "Will you comply with the plan?"

"No. It's wrong." Something hard found its way into her hand. Sagittarius. Not her sword; she hadn't gotten a new one yet anyway.

"Then you must be extinguished." The demon drew its weapon and slashed downward towards her.

White-hot agony flared through her, tearing a scream from her throat. In a blink it was gone but all she could do was stumble back against the door, where she slid to the ground. _No weapons. No armor. I'm going to die here. _Gritting her teeth, she planted her hands on the floor and pushed herself upright. Or tried to; her shaking arms buckled, dropping her back to the floor, to the scattered blood drops already fallen from her nose and quivering lips. _He's strong. Stronger than I remember._ She coughed, and the sound was wet.

Footsteps approached slowly as he rounded the desk, and in a heartbeat he was standing before her. "Pitiful. I raised you to fight better than this. You're letting your shattered heart make you weak, and the weak do not deserve to live."

_No._ Clutching Sagittarius, she squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the thing against her forehead. _Please. Please help me. My father's gone and I have nowhere to go, so please. I don't want to die here. I have to... have to go, have to let people know._

His blade whistled towards her neck but something flared out, something so bright it blinded her even through her closed eyelids. Then the light _twisted,_ and she was gone_._

* * *

Olan tugged the hood of his cloak lower against the constant rainfall as he slipped into the alley. It was narrow and filled with refuse, vague lumps of sour-smelling rubbish rendered unidentifiable by the night's thick shadows. Only one other figure occupied such a seedy place with him, a slim man in a dark, concealing cloak, much like his own.

At his entry, the other man thrust hands into his pockets and took a single step forward. "You're Olan?"

Olan nodded. "Lowell?" The question was unnecessary; he already recognized the man's voice.

"The same. Did you bring what we agreed on?"

"I did, plus ten percent for your courtesy in meeting on such short notice."

Lowell shook his head. "It doesn't look good to be magnanimous in this kind of situation, Olan. You should pay me what you agreed to pay me, not more. But regardless, let's see it."

Ignoring the insult, Olan produced a sizable coin pouch from under his cloak, then handed it to the other man. There was enough in there to ransom a queen. Or betray her. "Count it if you like."

"There is no need. You're a man of your word." Lowell fell silent for a moment, as rain pattered into muddy puddles all around, before finally shaking his head and tucking the money away. "I'm not doing this just for the gil, you know. I don't like that bitch at all. Nobody wants her around."

Olan inclined his head. "That is why I approached you."

"Of course. But we should part now."

"Agreed." Spinning, Olan tugged his hood lower again and trotted out of the alley, into the night.

* * *

Ramza awoke with a start, glancing around the dark room for a moment before settling back into his place among the sheets. It was still night out, pitch-black in the room and almost silent save for the steady whisper of rain on the roof above. "Ruvelia."

"Indeed." Cool fingers touched his face, gently brushed his hair back. She was a modest weight on the bed, dimpling the already-worn mattress beside his head and shoulders, and she smelled clean, of soap and that light perfume.

He sighed and turned his head. "Vector? Are you here?"

"Of course he's not here, Ramza." The queen chuckled, a fond sound. "Did you think I intended to share you?"

"That's...." He blinked, then gave his head a brisk, disgusted shake. "What do you want?"

"Oh, I'd just saw that you'd met with Delita, so I was interested in hearing how that went." As she spoke she kept up the physical contact, touching his cheek, playing with his ear.

"Mmm. It... happened."

She snorted. "There must be more to it than that."

Ramza let his eyes slide shut. "He gave me Libra. Didn't know that, did you?"

"Ah. I did not." Her fingers paused briefly before resuming. "So did he kill Orlandu?"

"He claims not, and that it was Rofel who gave him the stone."

"Pff. Figures." Long hair whispered as the queen shook her head.

"Does that mean Vormav did it?"

"Whether he physically did it or not, it was his idea and his order." She paused, then sighed. "What an asshole. Because of that, you have another stone now."

"Yeah, I don't suppose that's really in your interests."

"Not as such."

Ramza frowned at the ceiling he couldn't see, then sat upright among the sheets. Raked his hand through his hair.

When he said nothing, Ruvelia shifted to sit behind him, and her cool hands alighted on his neck and shoulders, squeezing, massaging. "You're as silent as ever, I see. But I admit it's an appealing trait. A man is more attractive when he's a bit aloof."

He twisted his lips. "How do you keep surprising me like this? The... the teleporting thing, is that something from Capricorn?"

"It is." Her thumbs dug into his shoulder blades, trying to untie knots of permanent tension there. "You'd know if you'd ever tried to use one of your many stones."

_So that means she has the stone on her right now._ He nodded, then leaned back into her hands. "I... have been wondering about that, I guess. About if the stones would even work for me, or if I'm... I think Elmdor said an 'unsuitable' host, like Meliadoul."

Ruvelia's answering chuckle was light and amused. "Ramza! You're thinking of another woman while you're in bed with me? How shameful."

He scowled at his lap and waited. Swayed back and forth with the soothing pressure of the backrub she was giving him.

"But," she sighed, "I suppose I can forgive your curiosity. It's true, you're not an ideal host. But there are powers even the meanest simpleton can use."

"Thanks."

"I didn't mean that as an insult."

He shrugged. Without the covers over his chest, and with the wet night air drifting in through the window, the room was cool, almost chilly, making the queens' hands feel warm in comparison. "So what can this simpleton do with the stones?"

"Ohhhh," she sighed, thoughtfully. "Who knows? I've never really been in a position to figure that out. But I encourage you to experiment with them. Since you're not suitable, you don't have to worry about... well, about becoming like me."

"That's good to know." _But I'm sure there are plenty of other horrible things that could happen._

"Mm-hmm." Ruvelia's hands slid around his upper arms until she was hugging him from behind. Her hair tickled his shoulders, and once again her perfume made twinkling stars somewhere in his mind. "There. All loose. Does that feel better?" Her breath was warm against the side of his neck, and her thighs squeezed once against his waist.

He frowned, then twisted around to face her. Grabbed her shoulder and made note of the thin thread of silk holding her gown up. After a long moment in which he said nothing and she merely traced a finger along his stubbled jaw, he gripped the sheer fabric in his fist and pulled upwards.

She laughed, a low, smoky sound, and raised her arms to let the gown slip off. "Ramza! It's so nice to see a younger man take the initiative."

He ignored her teasing, and instead squeezed the nightgown into as tight a ball as he could make with only one hand. There was nothing in it. Nothing but silk. _So that means her stone is... inside her? Part of her, like the others? It's definitely not in her clothes._ Clearing his frown, he tossed the garment aside, to the floor. "Shut up and lie down."

Ruvelia laughed again, seemingly delighted. "I have to say it's rather exciting to see you be the aggressor. That makes a woman feel wanted. Even if your manners could use some improvement." As she spoke she shifted about, tugging him this way and that as her weight shifted the mattress around, until finally the smooth skin of her thighs settled just outside his own. "If that's the way you're going to be, then I am yours to command. I shiver to think of what... diabolical plans a heretic such as yourself might have in mind for me."

"You'll find out shortly enough." After a moment to clear the disgust from his face, the knives from his heart, he leaned forward, over her, and planted a hand on the pillow beside her head.

Her hand slid along his cheek, threading into the hair at his temple. "So. Does this mean you've given over on your plans to kill me?"

"No, I'm still thinking about it."

"Oh, that's sad." Disappointment colored her voice. "You're saying you don't want any more of this?"

"Honestly?" He sighed and shut his eyes. "Yes. But... it's going to hurt Rafa, and she deserves better than that."

"Oh, her again?" Ruvelia grunted, and the hand in his hair turned to a fist for a moment before relaxing. "You know, there are... solutions to that problem."

_I know._ "Like what?"

"Can't you just kill her?" The queen thumbed open his lips as she spoke in a breathy murmur.

He blinked. "What?"

"She trusts, you, doesn't she? Implicitly." Ruvelia shifted, lifted herself up to plant a kiss against his cheek. "She'd never know what hit her. Problem solved. After all, it's not conscionable to toy with two women."

Ramza took a deep breath and waited until he could speak calmly. "Yeah. But I don't have it in me to kill someone that innocent."

"Ah. Then just say the word, and I can find--"

"But at least you're not innocent." Without waiting for a response he leaned in. Pressed his forearm to her neck and put his full weight on it. She was small; he might well crush her throat before she even knew what was happening.

* * *

"Hey! Hey, what are you--?" Weapons clashed in the night, and someone screamed. Another man shouted for help, and running, clinking footsteps competed with the gentle hiss of the rain.

Olan kept silent, pressing himself back against Lesalia's grand wall. The guards above hadn't seen him; they'd been too worried about what was up in the hills to notice what was right under their noses. And it was dark.

"Help! Reinforcements! The gate is being betr--" The shouter cut off with a wet gurgle, and more men started shouting, screaming. Something rumbled the ground, a telltale sign of the use of magic. Somewhere nearby, a woman shrieked about her arm, her arm, while a man panicked about not being able to see; with the rain and clouds, there was no moon, no stars. A man could suffocate in that kind of darkness.

Olan kept his silence and didn't move. _Soon, now. Lowell can do it._

More shouting sounded from somewhere inside the city, perhaps another patrol yelling to others yet farther in about the gate situation, but it was too late; something heavy clunked, and the gate started rumbling open. Curses joined the general mayhem of battle.

_Now._ Without expression Olan drew a rod from his belt, a common flame rod available at any magic shop. A single thought was enough to ignite its end; this wasn't how they were meant to be used, to be sure, but it would work. Flames hissed out from the thing, dancing and steaming in the rain, but it was in no danger of being extinguished.

Raising the rod over his head, he waved the thing back and forth in wide arcs. _Now. Come._

* * *

"There's the signal." Delita grinned, pointing at the distant point of flame swaying from side to side as Olan waved it.

Beside him, Bolmna straightened in his saddle and wiped rainwater from his face. "So soon?"

Delita shrugged. "Who cares? Sound the orders."

"Of course." Wheeling his chocobo around, Bolmna stood up in the saddle and cupped hands around his mouth. "Everyone! We've spotted the signal, and that means the gate is opening! Attack plan beta! First, second and fifth divisions, storm the gate! Third and fourth division, circle southward to pin the forces on the walls there! Sixth division heads north to...."

Before long a massive roar drowned out his words, a charged shout from tens of thousands of throats, accompanied by the deafening thunder of tens of thousands of weapons clattering against tens of thousands of shields. When Bolmna slashed his arm down, pointing towards the city, the roar redoubled as men and chocobos raced forward, churning already-beaten ground into shapeless mud.

Delita remained where he was, seated on his mount atop the highest hill in the camp, and watched his people begin the attack. And smiled.

* * *

Ruvelia choked and gurgled under Ramza's attempts to choke her, but somehow she managed to wedge her knees between her chest and his own. Rather than let her heave him away, he slid off to one side, wrapped his arm around her throat, hoping to get behind her. She writhed and struggled, falling half-off the bed, and he followed her.

As one they thumped onto the inn room's floor but he was already reacting; she wasn't a fighter, didn't have the instincts for it. A feint, a slight loosening of his grip, and she tried to jerk away, which gave him the room he needed behind her. One arm around her neck, choking her, while the other tried to keep her own arms under control. She flailed and jerked and thrashed around, driving her elbows into his ribs, her feet into his thighs, but he waited and held her. Held her until her bare skin grew hot and flushed against his own, until her pulse grew to a panicked fluttering in her neck. Held her despite the pitiful, desperate wheeze coming from her throat in place of the usual breathing.

At long last her struggles grew weaker until finally her body went limp atop him, though he kept the pressure up just the off chance she was faking. _She's so... light._

Before he could do more than wonder, however, she exploded. Sent him skidding back along the floor, pushing the rug into a tangle behind him until his head, back and shoulders struck the wall. With a groan he gave his head a shake to clear it, then climbed unsteadily to his feet.

Ruvelia's demon form was not what he was expecting. Green and tan, crouching, tailed, horned. Massive.

As he watched, the thing gave its head a furious shake, then flexed arms thicker than tree trunks and screamed. "You little _shit! _What the hell was that?"

Ramza squinted doubtfully at the demon. _I had that thing in my bed?_

Abruptly the door slammed open, flooding the room with golden light from the hallway without. Ramza threw up an arm to shield his eyes, already aware of who was there.

"Okay, what the hell?" Agrias' voice was flat. "Or, actually... forget it." Steel whispered free of her scabbard and lightning strobed into the demon.

Ramza wasted no time and darting forward, raining punches and kicks on the slavering beast. It hissed, catching his arm in one clawed fist before throwing him across the room. Grimacing, he twisted in midair but there was nowhere near enough time; he struck the wall with a dizzying crack, and then a moment later a column of flame erupted from the floor, through him.

When he managed to pick himself off the floor, Alicia and Rafa were crowded into the room as well, all weaving around the demon to attack it with weapons, Rafa having apparently decided against using her unpredictable Heaven skills in such close quarters. Baring his teeth, Ramza skidded forward on his feet, launching a Wave Fist at the thing's back. Rafa's staff cracked into its face, nearly shattering a horn, but one of the beast's claws managed to find Alicia's head. The redhead flew down, bounced off the floor, and remained still.

Growling, Ramza stepped over his fallen friend to deliver punch after punch to the demon. His fist could shatter wood, even split stone, and he fought with his throat growing more and more hoarse until it occurred to him he was screaming. It was hatred that motivated him, stoked the angry black fires in his heart. Pure, base hatred. He couldn't think, couldn't put a reason to it, but it was there and it consumed him.

The demon exploded again before he even knew what was happening. Searing light angled wildly across the walls and ceiling, accompanied by the vengeful howls of the damned, before the Zodiac stone simply dropped to the floor with a click.

Ramza stared at it, then collapsed to his knees beside it. He was bleeding again, from wounds he couldn't even remember getting; half his chest was a slick of blood, part of one leg had been burned so badly the skin was cracked and splitting, and his right hand shook as he retrieved the stone. _Capricorn._

Swallowing, he glanced about. Alicia was sitting upright now, grimacing and touching her head as Agrias fussed over her wounds. But apart from that... the room was trashed. Char marks on the floor, unidentifiable demon goo splattered on one wall. Most of the outside wall and half the ceiling had simply been blown away, letting rain sheet into the room, washing the blood from his chest only to see fresh crimson replace it.

With a sigh he invoked a chakra to heal his injuries. Then did it again.

When he stood, afterwards, the three women were staring at him. Not at the room, or the gem, but at him. He scowled. "What?"

Agrias was the first to recover. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she turned her back on him. "Put some damn clothes on, Ramza. I'm going to explain things to the innkeeper, pay off the damage here, and then we'll talk." Without waiting for an answer, she strode out into the hallway, followed by Alicia; the redhead, rather than glare at him, just looked sad and tired, and kept her gaze on the floor.

_Right. I'm naked. They know, now. There's no way they don't know._ His eyes sought and found Rafa's, uncertain.

She returned his stare with face and eyes completely unreadable. Even after fighting the demon her clothes somehow remained clean and spotless, a snowy white with the turquoise waist band that suited her honey-brown skin so well, but now she just gazed back at him without moving.

Eventually, however, she nodded. Glided forward to touch his shoulder, where dripping rainwater was slowly washing away his blood. "You should clean up," she murmured, "and get dressed." After speaking her eyes rose to find his again but this time there was something there: concern. Patience.

He closed his eyes, let Capricorn drop to the floor, and nodded. She knew, and unless his guess was wildly wrong, wanted to hear some explanation from him before she could, or would, get mad.

She knew, and didn't hate him.

"Yeah." The word came out as a whisper, and he couldn't open his eyes.

"We'll need to find Jasmine and Vector, and then probably move to a different inn. So come meet us downstairs when you're ready, okay?"

"Yeah."

She squeezed his shoulder once before her hand disappeared. Moments later, the door clicked shut.

* * *

Vormav, bored, followed the battle for Lesalia with only passing interest. He watched from _behind,_ from between reality's threads, drifting from place to place to keep his eyes on the things others considered important. Leo, as always, was a ruby fire in his belly, but it was Virgo he held in his hand, as had been his habit of late.

Blinking from hilltop to valley, unit to unit, he watched the Nanten storm into the city. Watched them slaughter the helpless and disorganized defenders in the streets, on the walls. It was silent, as always; under the surface there was no sound. All he really cared about was the deaths; it hardly mattered who they came from, so long as they happened. Soldiers dropping with swords in their bellies, or unfortunate civilians trampled for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, it was all good. All for the plan.

Shaking his head, he flitted back to the Nanten command, vaguely curious about the current activities of the future king and queen. Delita, of course, remained mounted outside the city, taking reports from runners and issuing commands to his officers. It seemed he'd stuck Ovelia in an unmarked tent on the hill, guarded by elite veterans, though it hadn't fooled the assassins currently sneaking up on the place. A pity, really, that....

Something caught his attention. Virgo. It was vibrating.

Frowning, he regarded the stone in his hands, then drifted closer to where the girl herself sat nervously on a folding chair, probably wishing desperately that she could be anywhere else, in any other situation. The guards surrounding her ignored her completely, as their attention was focused on everything else, any possible threat. She was effectively alone.

As he drew near Virgo flickered once. Just a tiny flash, hardly any light at all, but it was something he'd never seen before. _Is she really the one? It should be reacting more._ He shook his head. _If only I'd had this thing when I saw her last. So much hassle could have been avoided._

After a moment he shrugged. There was nothing to be done about it now.

Hovering closer, right behind the girl, he slipped between the threads and into the world, for just a heartbeat. Long enough to grab the princess. Long enough for her to draw a startled breath but not to scream. And then he was back under, with her.

With Ajora's future body.


	14. The Days Grow Hot, O Babylon

_There's a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious, makes you so sick at heart, that you can't take part. You can't even passively take part. And you've got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels, upon the levers, upon all the apparatus, and you've got to make it stop._  
-- Mario Savio

Chapter Fourteen: The Days Grow Hot, O Babylon

In a seldom-used library buried under the temple at Murond, by the warm and flickering light of a half-dozen candles, Rofel sat studying a spell. It was a simple spell, but its simplicity was deceptive; unlike others of the same genus and arcanum, a mistake would not simply result in failure, a harmless fizzle. No; failure meant a spectacular release of energies. An explosion that would likely kill the caster and anyone near him.

_Just as well, _he dismissed. _I won't fail anyway._

With a twist of his lips he bent back over the yellow pages of the Germonik Scriptures. But then he stopped. Lifted his head, frowned at the distant, dimly-lit bookshelves gathering dust in the still underground air. "It's you."

"It's me." Footsteps rang hollowly behind him, approaching him, leather boots on unyielding stone floor. "Surprised?"

"A little." After a moment he returned to his studying. "Are you planning to kill me?"

"Not right away. I need information from you first."

"Ah. Of course." His hand drifted towards his side, slowly, hopefully concealed from the visitor behind him.

"Touch the sword and I'll cut that arm off before you can do anything. You don't need to be in one piece to answer my questions."

* * *

The rain kept up all day. It was little more than a blur to Ramza; another nearly-sleepless night had left him fuzzed and slow to react, and that didn't even take into account the things happening _during_ the night. The fight against Ruvelia, the destruction of the inn room. Agrias had paid off the innkeeper, and they'd waited for Jasmine and Vector to return before moving, only to find out that Delita had apparently attacked the city during the night. So an hour before dawn, while the battle still raged in and around the palace, they'd left the inn. Threaded through the dark city, stepping around constellations of crystals left unclaimed in the streets. Left the city of Lesalia altogether. And he'd been walking ever since.

Now it was late afternoon-ish, but the swollen grey clouds and his fatigue made that a rough estimate at best. South of Lesalia, well off the road to Goland, the world was little but jagged green hills studded with rocks and stumpy, twisted trees. Sodden, sorry grass, muddy ground that squished and shifted under his boots. Some four hundred yards west of where they walked lay an abandoned mine, boarded up with half-rotten planks of wood and overgrown with weeds and shrubs besides. He hadn't even known there'd ever been a mine out this way.

Rafa walked beside him; he wished she'd leave. Alicia and Agrias trudged onward ahead of him, with Vector and Jasmine hovering in the middle of their makeshift file. It was silent but for the rain and the sound of wet footsteps; conversation had been in short supply today.

Abruptly Jasmine stopped, so suddenly he almost stumbled into her. "Hey, Ramza?"

"What?" He steadied himself with a hand on her white-robed shoulder, then pushed himself away.

She turned around with a frown somewhere between thoughtful and irritated. "Why can't we just stop here?"

He frowned right back at her, then squinted up at the sky. "Is it late enough? I can't tell."

"Who the hell cares?" muttered Alicia, grimacing as she worked one shoulder. "Not like we're trying to get anywhere specific."

"Exactly." Jasmine's dark eyes were uncharacteristically weary as she regarded him in pleading. "No one got much sleep last night. It wouldn't kill us to turn in early."

He frowned at her, aware without looking of Rafa beside him, head down as she caught her breath, of Agrias adjusting her sword belt with a grimace. "Yeah. We'll... yeah."

Jasmine slumped in relief and nodded, shrugging out of her backpack. Vector did the same, sighing as he dropped his bedroll into the mud, while Alicia simply sat down where she stood.

Ramza waited until Rafa was busy chatting in a low voice with Agrias, something to do with the state of the latter woman's armor, before making himself scarce. A muttered explanation, and then he slipped past a stunted apple tree and around the slope of the hill; with luck the others would think he'd just gone to relieve himself. Once he could no longer hear them he dropped to the ground, placed his chin in his hand and stared across the next valley. Green and more green, all vibrant from the excess of recent rain. Apart from the odd tree or boulder, the only thing in the vast space below was a slanting farmhouse that looked to have been abandoned decades ago. Perhaps its occupants had moved on when the mine closed.

Cold rain pattered into his hair, slid down the back of his neck. He stared at nothing, and couldn't summon the energy to move a muscle, barely even to blink.

Some time later, maybe a quarter hour, wet grass rustled a good ten yards behind him. That was her way of letting him know she was there; she didn't _have_ to make any noise. He closed his eyes for a moment before forcing words out. "What do you want?"

Footsteps whispered towards him and then Rafa folded herself up to sit beside him. "Can you tell me what happened?"

His lips twisted of their own accord, and he didn't look in her direction. "Don't you already know?"

"I want to hear it in your words."

"Fine." He sighed. "She'd approached me a few times when I was alone, like when I was on watch, before last night. Wanted to sound me out, see if she could misdirect me and send me after Delita or something."

"And then?"

"And then stuff happened. We had sex."

"Last night?"

"No, earlier. Last night she showed up and I decided to kill her for her stone."

Rafa didn't answer, and he still kept his gaze on the distant farmhouse. It was such a sorry-looking place, with its paint long worn off and the wood clearly rotting, even from this distance and through a haze of rain. The windows were nothing but square holes into darkness.

Eventually she shifted. "Why did you do it?" Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

He shrugged. "She... turned me on too much."

Rafa sighed but nodded. "Do you plan to do that a lot in the future?"

He blinked, then turned to scowl at her. "What? You say that like all's forgiven."

Wide brown eyes stared back at him without pretense. "I guess... like I said, it would hurt me if you kept doing that, so I'd like it if you didn't. But apart from that, you--"

He reached forward, gripped her shoulder, hard, and stared into her eyes from inches away. "Rafa, I fucked the queen."

She didn't blink, didn't pull back, just stared confidently back at him. "I know what it's like to be unable to stop things in bed. To kick an unwelcome guest out."

"I killed your brother."

"He attacked you. If anything it was his fault, not yours."

He swallowed, squeezed her shoulder tighter, and it was an effort not to grind his teeth. "You'd... you'd forgive me for anything, wouldn't you? No matter what I did."

She nodded, swaying the straight brown hair hanging out of her hood. "That's what it means to love."

"No. That's what it means to be naive."

Rafa flinched at this but still didn't pull away, didn't look away. Some of the water sliding down her cheeks looked not to have come from the rain.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Ramza released her, pressed his face into his fist. "What... why are...?" The words wouldn't come out; his throat was tight, choking, and his eyes burned. He was shaking as well, and his breath came in great ragged gasps.

A gentle hand touched his face. "I know why you strayed, Ramza," she whispered. "You hate yourself so badly, and you want someone else to hate you in the same way, to make you feel justified in how you feel about yourself. And it can't be an enemy, someone like Meliadoul; she hates you just for one thing you did, and doesn't know you at all. You want someone who knows you through and through to hate you like you hate yourself, and that's why you are the way you are. But I'm not going to do that. There's a good person inside you, which is why these things still upset you. Someone worthy of hatred would just shrug it all off."

"No," he groaned, sniffling. "No, that's not... I'm not good. Not for you, not for anyone. I'm not...."

"Hush." Warm fingers brushed away his tears.

"No, listen. I've just... it's like I've just been using you, you know. At Bethla, you... you offered, and I wanted to know what it was like so I...."

"Ramza." Her hands slid around his shoulders, pulled him over into a one-sided embrace. "I don't believe that, and I don't think you do either. But if it's really true, that you were using me, then... it's okay. I love you, so if using me makes you happy, you can."

"No! Rafa, you can't just...." He cut off, gasping, and couldn't continue. He could only shake and shiver in her arms. _I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

She didn't answer, only kissed his forehead and held him. Held him until the warm oblivion of slumber stole away his tears.

* * *

Steady rain hissed down into muddy puddles and peppered Meliadoul's face as she rode bent over the neck of a chocobo she'd stolen in Dorter. Ramza had been headed to Lesalia, she recalled -- him and all the Nanten, apparently -- so she had hopes of catching him there. If she rode this bird into the ground and didn't sleep much. Already the choco was wheezing with every labored breath, a sound that just a month ago probably would have brought tears to her eyes, but now it barely touched her. Too much had happened, too fast; she'd seen things, done things, she never would have imagined before, so it was just... hard to summon much feeling. For anything.

A quick glance back showed the crouched huddle of Goland disappearing among the wild hills in this region of Ivalice, further obscured by the grey curtain of rainfall. Jaws clenched, eyes tight, she shifted her gaze back to the road. Whipped the reins to speed the chocobo up, and it complied as best it could; they were stubborn animals, not willing to give up short of death. Groaning, wheezing warks, the smell of wet feathers. Mud squishing under clawed feet, spraying up to the hem of her ragged robes.

A short time later, dark figures resolved out of the rain on the road ahead. Two men, four women. Familiar body language.

Narrowing her eyes, Meliadoul heeled the chocobo for greater speed to close the distance between them, a few hundred paces. They recognized her immediately, of course, and fanned out as if in anticipation of an attack, blades drawn and everything.

Focusing only on Ramza, she leapt off her mount at twenty paces and ignored how it collapsed into the muddy road behind her. Instead she limped briskly towards him; her left leg hadn't healed quite right after the fight with the demon in her father's body. Ramza watched her approach without visible alarm, arms motionless at his sides, though everyone else had adopted battle stances.

Just short of his reach, the Oaks woman darted out and blocked her passage. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?" Rainwater dripped from the sodden braid hanging out from under her helmet. "And why should we leave you alive this time?"

Pushing aside the Holy Knight's heavy weapon with her bare hands, Meliadoul focused on Ramza, who just stared back at her with vacant hazel eyes. "I talked to my father."

His expression didn't change. "And?"

"And I found out he's a demon. He told me their plan and I just... I had to stop him. Couldn't fight him; he almost killed me, but I got away." She hadn't spoken to anyone in days, but now the words spilled past her lips in a dead monotone. "You have no idea what they're doing, but his plan is so... so absurd, so obscene, I just... I had to stop it. No matter the cost to him, or you or anyone." _Or me._ Reaching into her robes, she ignored the sudden grimness painting the others' faces, and instead pulled out a folded square of parchment and held it out to Ramza.

After a moment he took the thing, then unfolded it carefully but clumsily under the protective shell of his oiled cloak. "What is this?"

"It's a spell. One to open a... a door to hell." The ink on the parchment traced out the spell in its original magic, and also in a pronounceable transcription for anyone else to use. "Where his power is. Where he's planning to use someone innocent to act as a host body for something called the Blood Angel." She couldn't bring herself to call it Ajora.

Ramza's eyes lifted from the page to meet her gaze. "Why are there bloodstains on it?"

"Rofel didn't want to talk, so... I tortured him." Her voice remained dead; despite her efforts she couldn't put any feeling into it. "I didn't know how to do it properly, but that's why the writing is so bad."

Ramza paused at this, while the others around him displayed either distaste at this tale or interest in the document in his hands. Or hand. But eventually he just nodded. "So Rofel's dead now?"

She nodded as well. "That was a few days ago, and I haven't eaten at all since then. Barely slept. But since then it's occurred to me that... I'm like you." She paused, tilted her head, and continued to meet his gaze. "I've only met you once, for less than a day, and it was enough for all your evil to seep into me and _infect_ me. I never would have done something like that before. You're a monster. And now _I'm_ a monster too."

He shuffled forward without expression. "Do you hate me?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Yes."

"Are you still planning to kill me."

"Yes. But not until after you stop my father."

Something touched her shoulder. A hand. _His_ hand. "Come with us."

She swallowed, opened her eyes just enough to squint at him. "Why should I?"

"A couple of years ago, I was you," came his flat response. "And today we want the same things."

"But you still killed Izlude. I'm still going to kill you."

"That's fine."

"No, it's not," she snapped. Somehow an emotion had bubbled out of the void in her heart: irritation. "You're trying to talk tough or brush it off, but I have every intention of going through with it. I go to sleep every night praying for the moment I can sink my blade into your heart for what you did to my brother, and to me."

His grip tightened on the armored plates covering her shoulder. He was a good head taller than her, and stared down at her without expression. "I believe you."

She swallowed again, averted her gaze. "How can you say that so calmly?" she whispered. "I want you to die. I want it so bad it hurts."

Ramza shuffled forward, enough place his lips near her ear. "I know exactly what you are," he murmured, "and how deeply you hate. After what you've done, your dreams won't be pretty -- they'll hurt you, rake you over the coals -- but they'll be the only place where you can face yourself. You need to sleep."

She opened her mouth, then paused, too tired to argue. Then her legs buckled anyway, taking the choice from her, depositing her on her knees in the mud in front of him, a humiliating position but one she couldn't help.

"Come on," he continued, bending. One arm found its way around her midsection, and then just like that he was heaving her off the ground, to his shoulder, armor and all. "You're shaking. Let's get you some rest."

Meliadoul closed her eyes against the warmth leaking down her cheeks. "Why don't you hate me?"

"Don't be an idiot." He started walking somewhere, swaying her with every step. "I have nothing but respect for people who want to kill me."

* * *

"It has to have been the Shrine Knights. It _has _to. No one else could have abducted her like that."

Teta sat in a folding chair in Lesalia's throne room, watching her brother pace and reason aloud. It was just the two of them in the vast and gaudy space; he'd sent everyone else away hours after the battle's completion. Ruvelia's touch was still strong in the place -- Hokuten banners, opulent silk streamers hanging from the ceiling for no reason on either side of the throne -- but that would doubtless change in the next day. Delita didn't like leaving reminders of his enemies.

He paused in mid-step, then whirled to face her, dark eyes burning and intent, so much so that she swallowed. "Don't you think so? The guards even found some Hokuten assassins there, so whoever took her was more capable than they were. That leaves a pretty short list."

"Delita." Teta stood, adjusting her dress to give herself more time to frame a response, then stepped over to him. "Although I don't really know about these things, it does sound like it was the Shrine Knights. But more importantly, you need to calm down. Wherever Ovelia is, she's alive. That gives you time to find her."

"Yes." He glared at one marble wall, then shook himself, and the expression faded to a mere scowl. "Yes. I don't know how they got in there -- the guards didn't see anything -- so I don't know how they're moving, but it's not impossible she's already back in Murond."

Teta said nothing, just waited, watching his face. He was struggling with something, something apart from the obvious; the unusual lines of tension in his shoulders told her that.

After a moment he took a deep breath, then let it out in a long, ragged sigh. "But... I have to stay here, don't I?" A weak, self-conscious smile twisted his lips as his frustrated eyes sought and found hers. "Razma. Ramza killed Ruvelia and I'm sure he's already after them. He'll get her back."

Teta frowned at this, shuffling directly in front of her brother to stare up at him, searching his expression. It wasn't like him to leave something of this magnitude in another's hands. "Do you trust him that much? He's changed."

He forced a laugh and shrugged. "Of course. I grew up with him, didn't I? I know what kind of guy he is, and that's not the sort of thing that changes. And besides...." His voice dropped to a whisper, and he sighed again. "Besides, it's not like I can do anything, can I? People here need me, so I just need to... do what I can, and accept that I'm helpless. I'd like nothing more than to run out there and break arms until I find her, but... I can trust my friend to do it."

_He's grown up so much._ Nodding, she closed her eyes, rested her forehead on her brother's armored chest. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, and for a time she just stood there, being near him, doing what she could to help.

Some time later, the massive doors at the far end of the chamber whispered open. "Majesty?" came Olan's low voice, echoing. "Ramza Beoulve is indeed gone from the city. Our long-range scouts spotted him heading south earlier this morning."

Delita pushed Teta away to arms' length and winked down at her. Then, nodding, he spun to face the scarred Olan. "Alright. Any word yet on the damage to the city and palace? I want the engineers' report by mid-afternoon, no later. Also, let's move the captured Hokuten to someplace a little more hospitable than the...."

Teta folded arms over her chest and watched him trot off, out of the throne room, busy organizing his new country. The country he'd be king of, officially, as soon as Ovelia was found and the coronation ceremony complete. He could just as easily crown himself in her absence, but wouldn't.

She smiled at the polished marble floor, then gazed sideways, up at the vacant but glittering throne. He meant to rule from Zeltennia, not Lesalia. _So that'll leave you all alone, won't it? If they don't just melt you down for the gold._

Chuckling, she turned and made for the pale double doors. Delita had a country to see to, and she had her studies.

* * *

Vormav stood over the unconscious form of Ovelia Atkascha lying on a stone slab deep under Orbonne. She hadn't been touched, and still wore her garments from the night he'd kidnapped her. A simple white dress, modestly cut, embroidered skillfully and in understated fashion with thread-of-silver around the sleeves. He'd never appreciate how small she was, before, how pale and doll-like, though perhaps the underground moisture had something to do with that.

_You just get passed off from hand to hand, don't you?_ Bending, he brushed a lock of golden hair away from her face. _How tragic. But you don't need to worry about that much longer._

Behind him, a door creaked; the hinges weren't oiled often, this far down. "Vormav? What are you doing?"

He straightened, then turned to face the questioning glance on Balk's face. "I'm waiting for Ramza."

* * *

The rain finally tailed off around nightfall, leaving the camp a collection of wet shadows. Even Vector couldn't get a fire started with so much moisture around, so the shadows turned out to be cold as well as wet. Agrias kept to herself, eating quietly, watching the others and thinking.

After Meliadoul's unexpected arrival earlier in the day, she'd done little but sleep. Even when Ramza had heaved her to the ground an hour later, she'd barely stirred, just enough to mutter something about "kill you." But somehow, despite that, despite having to put down the Shrine Knight's exhausted chocobo, everyone else's mood had lifted, something Agrias was still trying to figure out. Vector had made a few lame jokes about not being sure they could find any water around, and Alicia was back to punching Ramza. Jasmine seemed to watch it all and smile.

Once her meal of bruised apples and salted jerky was done, Agrias frowned, then climbed to her feet and sought out Rafa, also eating alone. Standing in front of the white-clad woman, she stared down at her for a moment, then shifted her feet. "Mind if I sit here?"

Rafa smiled and shook her head, patting the ground next to her. "Not at all."

Nodding her thanks, Agrias took the seat, such as it was, a soaked patch of ground the same as any other. It was unusual to find the assassin alone, as she tended to stick to Ramza's side, but with his attention now focused on the waking Meliadoul, Rafa had time. Time for some questions.

Moments later, Rafa glanced sideways, still smiling. "You wanted to ask me something, didn't you? What it is?"

With effort Agrias cleared her frown, then shifted her gaze to Ramza a good twenty paces away. She leaned closer to the other woman before speaking, and kept her voice low. "How are you doing?"

Rafa smiled at her lap. "I'm fine."

"No, I...." Agrias shook her head, wondering how to explain it, wondering also why she felt awkward, as though she were explaining sex or war to a child. "I mean, with Ramza. You're really fine? Even after... after... the thing with Ruvelia?"

Rafa pursed her lips but nodded. "Yes, really." As she spoke, her thumbs rubbed absent circles on the smooth wood of her staff. "We talked, and I think I know what was going on in his head, so... I'll get over it. We're fine."

"My God." Agrias shook her head once more and frowned at the distant Ramza. "I mean, we weren't mistaken about what happened, were we? The two of them... they really did, uh...."

"Yes."

"Wow." She paused, then chuckled, though she felt little humor. "I'd kick him in the nuts if he did that to me."

Rafa swayed, perhaps in a silent laugh, and a sideways glance showed her wearing a fond smile. "The world is full of people who want to kick him in the nuts. But he needs someone who won't."

"I'll take your word for that." Across the campsite, Ramza and Meliadoul were making a strange sort of conversation, one curt response after another, most no more than one or two syllables, and neither was looking at the other. He was probably thrilled to find someone who hated him so much. "I'm surprised you're worrying about him, though, not yourself. It's pretty clear he's the one in the wrong, and you're the victim."

Rafa followed her gaze and shrugged.

Agrias frowned, considering a new tack to the conversation. "Anyway... how's _he_ taking it? He seemed much worse off than you were. Than you are."

"Yes." Rafa sat forward, drawing her knees up to her chest and hugging them tightly, though her dark eyes still watched her questionable lover across the campsite. "Of course. He blames himself for everything, whether it's his fault or not."

"Yeah, but this obviously _is_ his fault."

"Oh, I know. I meant to say his conscience is full of scars, so something of this magnitude really hurts him. And then to be forgiven for it, that made him cry for half an hour."

"Hmm." Agrias pondered that, then sighed. "Well, I... don't claim to understand, but if you two think you're okay, then... I guess you are. Although if you decide otherwise, you can come find me at any time. Same is true of him, really, if you think he needs someone less... forgiving... to talk to. Though I'm not really any good at this stuff."

Rafa smiled again, at Ramza. "Thank you, Agrias. I'm sure he knows but I'll tell him anyway."

"Okay. Good." Agrias chewed a lip, then leaned back on her hands to watch the others. "What do you make of Meliadoul, anyway? She seems... odd."

The assassin shook her head, making dark hair whisper. "She's finding out she's not the person she thought she was. That hurts her and frightens her, but she's sitting next to an expert on that kind of pain. I think she'll be fine."

"I... suppose." Agrias rolled her shoulders, somewhat uncomfortably. "She's sitting awfully close to him, though. Aren't you a little jea--"

"No."

"Why not?"

Rafa shrugged again.

"Right," muttered Agrias, running a hand through her hair. _This is awkward. I should talk to someone shallower._

* * *

The sun shone over their arrival in Dorter. Ramza breathed deeply of the city air, of the odors of seaspray and pitch and spices and body odor, then exhaled sharply. He had things to do here. Secret things. Rafa had given him a second chance, one he hadn't wanted, but now that it was his, he wasn't going to waste it.

He kept his face low as usual while threading through the city's crowds. There were dozens of inns in the city and Agrias chose one they'd never been to, as she did each time, the better to prevent him from being recognized. Apparently the establishment had several rooms to spare; with the war, paying travelers were few, and word of Delita's victory at Lesalia was only now reaching this far south. Agrias claimed three two-person rooms for the price of two, then shuffled upstairs to drop off her gear, while the others followed.

Ramza did so as well, trying to keep the determined frown from his face. His plan would be ruined if any of the others found out what he was up to. After stowing his bags in one of the empty rooms, he turned to Rafa and Meliadoul, the two people closest to him, just outside the doorway. "I'm going into the city for a while. We need potions and stuff, and I never get sent to get them, so I'll go and the rest of you can rest here."

"Okay," acknowledged Rafa with a smile. Meliadoul just shrugged.

Nodding, Ramza patted his coinpurse, then slipped past the women and down the hall. Down the stairs, out of the inn. A few questions around the city provided the name and location of the vendor he sought, and then in the shop a few questions and a handful of gil provided what he needed.

The sun was just setting as he stepped out of the chemist's shop, but it was to the south that he turned his squinting gaze. South, towards Orbonne. If Meliadoul's information was correct, Vormav was probably already there. Waiting for him, as one enemy to another. _The Iceman's coming for you, Vormav. I hope you're prepared._

Once back at the inn, he paused to drop the satchel full of bottles in his room, then made his way back downstairs, to where the others were just finishing their meals. The rest of the common room remained only sparsely-populated, just a few merchants and a half-dozen guards between them, all spread between four tables. Despite the low murmur of conversation, of silverware clicking against wooden bowls, there wasn't enough noise to provide any privacy.

Thus he stopped at the foot of the stairs and caught Rafa's eye. Jerked his head towards the room in a wordless summons.

She smiled and murmured something to the others as she pushed her chair back. As she flowed to meet him, it struck him anew how graceful she was, how beautiful, in those white clothes that set off the chestnut of her skin and eyes. He'd seldom stopped to appreciate that before.

On reaching him she opened her mouth to ask of his intentions but he didn't wait for her to speak. Instead he gripped her wrist without a word and led her upstairs. To his room. His and hers; he'd move Vector's stuff later.

Once inside he reached past her to push the door shut, then kept his hand there as she leaned casually back, comfortable standing so close to him. "I need to apologize."

She shook her head. "Ramza, there's no need."

"There is too a need," he countered tersely. "I've been a jerk and I've hurt you, badly."

Rafa's lips thinned as her dark eyes scanned his own. Then she dropped her gaze. "Well, that's true. I can't lie about that."

He nodded, let his hand drop to his side. "But I can tell you it's not going to happen again. You shouldn't have forgiven me -- I wouldn't have, if our positions had been reversed -- but since you have, I'm not going to spit on your kindness. I'm not going to let you down again."

Her eyes rose once more to his own, studying, and a small smile touched her lips, one he doubted she was aware of. "Ramza, what are you planning?"

He blinked. "What?"

The smile grew and she reached to toy with the front of his shirt. "You're different now. You're up to something."

_Damn her._ He gripped her hand in his own. "I am not."

She chuckled, a low, throaty sound he'd seldom heard before. "I'm not angry at you, but I'm not fooled either. You don't need to lie to me."

_Great. Way to start off on the high road, Ramza._ He sighed and shook his head. "Alright, fine. I have something in mind but I don't want to tell you, or anyone, just yet. It's nothing bad, though."

Her confident eyes rose to his own while her arms slid over his shoulders, crossing behind his head. "Okay. I trust you."

He swallowed and nodded, resting his hand on her waist. "Okay."

This time he took the lead. Pressed his lips to hers, pinned her against the door. She didn't fight, far from it; her arms tightened around him, and when her mouth slid to his ear, her breath came in hot, irregular gasps.

Her clothes were complicated to put on but not so hard to get off. Somehow he managed to stumble to one of the beds, dragging her with him, and they remained there for a long, long time.

* * *

Agrias yanked her sword free of a lancer's chest, then grimaced at the spray of blood that came with it. People were shouting elsewhere in the underground library, screaming, chanting; with a hasty wipe of one hand she cleaned the worst from her face and surveyed the situation. Two mages on either end of the battle, arms raised and chanting. Ramza standing behind another lancer, breaking his neck, while Rafa and Alicia cornered the lone chemist. Meliadoul was just now stepping over the faintly-smoking body of a third lancer, while Vector was stealthing behind one of the mages. Jasmine seemed busy healing her own injuries.

_This is already over._ Leaping over the body she'd just made, Agrias strode towards the free mage and loosed a Holy Explosion, but not before his spell completed. Roiling fire arose from nowhere, washing over her, over the others. Charring her skin, searing into her bones.

But not enough to stop her.

Once the spell faded, she fired off another attack to topple the injured mage, then glanced around once more. Her breath rasped, and her left wouldn't eye didn't open anymore, but at least the fight was over. The mage she'd killed had inadvertently burned one of own his friends, the chemist, in addition to Alicia and Rafa, and Meliadoul and Vector together had apparently sliced apart the other mage before he'd even known what hit him.

Exhaling heavily, Agrias relaxed, then sucked air between her teeth at the pain it brought. _Damn mages._ She wasn't the only one hurt, either; everyone else had taken wounds, if most not so serious as hers. "Alright, shall we wait for the crystals? Then we can head--"

"No," interrupted Ramza. "No time, and we shouldn't waste magic either. This was one of the reasons I got extra potions in Dorter. Here." Bending, he reached into one of the party's scrips and rummaged around, shortly producing several of the high-end potions, which he passed around.

While the others murmured their approval of this idea, Agrias watched Ramza with narrowed eyes. He was different today. Last night, too, if his... alone time... with Rafa was any indication, but it was his body language that alerted her now. He was too intent, too openly driven. He was never this thoughtful, either, and had explained too much.

As he handed her a potion, she nodded her thanks, but then let her arm fall to her side once he moved on to Alicia. When his back was safely turned, she crouched to the floor and muttered an incantation, one from the catalogue of healing spells she knew. Light sparkled around in a helix around her, knitting her wounds together, soothing her burnt flesh. Ramza didn't notice. Meliadoul did, though she merely frowned around her potion as she drank it.

Ignoring the former Shrine Knight, Agrias uncorked her own bottle and dumped the contents to the floor. Then, standing, she wiped her mouth with one sleeve and tossed the empty bottle back to Ramza.

He caught the thing, along with three others, and awkwardly tucked them back into the leather bag. Agrias watched him, then shifted her gaze to others, trying to note every detail. Alicia was frowning at her open hand; was that unusual? No, not particularly. Vector was bouncing on his toes, lips thinned and humming, eager to get moving again. Meliadoul was leaning on that heavy sword while trying not to look like it, Jasmine was rummaging around in her own bag and Rafa was back on Ramza's side, clingy and smiling, as though the fight had never--

Alicia's eyes rolled up in her head and she dropped to the floor. Jasmine's sharp eyes jerked towards her, and her mouth opened, but before she could speak she was collapsing as well. In a heartbeat the only people standing were Agrias and Ramza.

He frowned at the others, then lifted his gaze to her and shook his head. "I should have known better than to think something like that would work on you. Always the bodyguard, huh?"

"What...?" She licked her lips, darted her gaze between all her fallen friends. "What did you do? Are... are they dead?"

"No. The hell you take me for?" He grunted, straightened from the bag at his feet, and shifted to face her full-on. "Sleeping powder. Enough to knock a person out, but they'll wake before long. They're fine."

"You...." She swallowed as his meaning sank in. "You're planning to go on alone." It wasn't a question.

He didn't bother answering it, either. Running his good hand through loose sandy hair, he made a frustrated face. "What gave it away? How'd you know not to drink?"

"Too many suspicious things about you." She spoke with only half her attention on her words; the rest, she focused on Ramza, watching him, studying him as she edged closer. "And I saw you choose one specific potion out of the bag for yourself. I assume the one without the powder. Not very good at this, are you?"

"I'm afraid not." He was studying her in return, with no expression at all in those hazel eyes. Watching her approach.

She shook her head firmly. "Okay, we can just wait for the others to wake. This was silly, but we can just--"

"There's no way I'm doing that, Agrias."

"Why not?" she snapped. "And if you don't want to wait for them, then just the two of us can go. Let _somebody_ help you, at least."

He was already shaking his head before she finished speaking. "No. I'm not dragging the rest of you down with me."

"What? You're planning to die there, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't you?" His voice was soft.

She paused, tried to think of another angle. "You'd leave everyone here helpless? Orbonne is controlled by the Church, and it's unreasonable to think they'll just leave everyone alone."

"They're dead, Agrias." He was moving now as well, shifting to one side to avoid her approach. Circling. Like an enemy. Behind him, the fallen Shrine Knight defenders started flickering into ghostly crystals. "The doors were open when we got here, and we haven't seen anyone here but the Shrine Knights. They killed everyone on their way in, and now we've killed all of them, so our friends here are safe. Take care of Meliadoul for me."

"What? Why her?"

"If I'm already dead, she won't be able to kill me, so she'll have to learn forgiveness." He thinned his lips, still watching her. "It'll be a good lesson for her."

"You think of everything, don't you?" Agrias scowled. "What about Rafa? She trusts you like a child."

A pained expression crossed Ramza's scarred face but he didn't glance away from her. "I know. But she'll understand. She always knows my motives better than I myself do, anyway. This is the best thing I can do for her, now."

"She loves you."

"I know. But she shouldn't." Ramza shook his head, and his eyes remained wary, on her. "I've owned up to my mistakes, but you can't change who you are. I'm a killer. I'm cold-blooded, the kind of guy who can stab a friend in the back. I'm a--"

"So is she. She's an assassin. You two are perfect together."

"No, she's not like me. But that's exactly why I have to...." He sighed, and again his face crumpled up, though in a blink he'd smoothed it again. "I can't explain it to you, and I don't expect you to believe me or to understand. But I'm going. Alone."

She regarded him narrowly. "How? Vormav is there. He almost killed you last time, and now you're missing a hand. You didn't even put on the knife this morning. How do you expect to beat him?"

"The knife is just silly," he muttered, forehead creasing in irritation. "A crutch. I have a plan, and I'll beat him on my own merits."

Her lips twisted. "A plan?"

He nodded. "One I have confidence in. Do you trust me?"

"I don't know," she whispered, taking another step closer. "I don't know anymore."

Ramza's shoulders slumped but he nodded again. "You're determined to come with me, aren't you? I can't allow that to happen."

Agrias swallowed, blinked away the hot tears in her eyes, but her grip on her sword hilt was steady. "I don't want to fight you, Ramza. But I will."

He gave his head a slow, weary shake. "I don't want to fight you either."

She attacked while he was still speaking. A shout, a Holy Explosion. No mercy; she was striking to drop him unconscious, to kill. He was far too dangerous to toy around with, and once he was down she could bring him back, safely subdued.

The familiar column of light lanced upwards through him, blinding, but he was already moving. He was fast on his feet, too fast; the injury she'd given him wasn't enough to weaken his punches or slow his kicks. She blocked what she could, dodged what she couldn't block, and tried to keep him at bay, but it wasn't enough. He was too fast, a damn demon, and he knew exactly what to expect of her; her strikes hit only empty air, and it was only through desperate acrobatics that she managed to avoid crippling blows from him. _Bastard studied me just for this, didn't he?_

Gritting her teeth, she planted a boot on his chest and pushed him away, sending him skidding a pace back, across the dusty stone floor. While he was recovering she leveled her sword, summoning another Holy Explosion. One wouldn't drop him, but two would. Two would--

He reacted first, getting inside her range, and the flat of his hand struck knife-like against her sword. The weapon cracked, falling in pieces to the floor.

Before she could do more than blink, he was on her again. One foot snapped sideways into her knee, breaking the bones there, and when she grimaced and stumbled, he delivered a brutal backhanded punch to her temple.

Then she was on the floor, spitting blood, blinking away fog. Trying to push herself to her feet, but her head hurt so much it made her stomach hurt too. A concussion, then. He'd answer for that, once she--

His boots shuffled into view beside her head. "I'm sorry, Agrias." One foot drew back, then snapped forward.

* * *

After Agrias collapsed into a boneless heap, Ramza straightened and surveyed the room with a grimace of distaste. Six still forms, some in awkward or painful positions; Jasmine had struck her head on a bookshelf when falling, and he'd broken Agrias' leg badly. And he had only the word of a back alley chemist that the sleeping powder wasn't actually fatal. _Still, better to risk death than die for certain._ Nobody going through the spell's portal would be coming back; he knew that. _If I was going to let them all come with me, it would make just as much sense just to slit their throats now._

His eyes slid to a white-clad form lying face-down, arms sprawled haphazardly beside her. Agrias' crack about Rafa loving him had hurt, had hit a little close to home. Because of her, he almost hadn't gone through with it. She deserved better. But then, that was the whole point. Of course she'd have disagreed with this plan; like Agrias, she would've wanted to come with him, to die with him. But part of being a leader was doing what was best for your people even when they themselves wanted something different. If he'd been weak, if he'd just given in to their wishes to come, although they'd have died happy, it would still have been a betrayal of the trust they'd placed, or misplaced, in him.

_Or maybe this is just the coward's way out. What the hell do I know?_ Shaking his head, he stepped over Agrias and Alicia to where Jasmine lay, then rummaged gingerly around in her robes until he found the spell Meliadoul had brought with her. Another moment of digging through the party's assorted packs and pouches netted him all the Zodiac stones, which he stuffed into his own packs. Next came one of the two flickering lanterns for use underground.

Then, with one last glance over his unconscious friends, he turned his back on them and headed down the monastery stairs. Into darkness.

The lowest level of the underground library lay silent. Empty. A broad, stone-floored space with the shelves pushed roughly off towards the walls, leaving the center open. Someone had chalked a circle there as well, with unreadable symbols lining the edge. Balk, probably; he was the only Shrine Knight left, apart from Vormav himself. The symbols on the floor, he realized after a moment, were the same ones on the sheet of parchment in his hand.

With a shrug he stepped to the center of the circle, placed the lantern on the floor with a click, and began to recite the spell. It was short, surprisingly short for something of such power. He'd hoped for a tingle, a sparkling thrill, at casting magic but there was nothing at all of the sort, just as though he were reading nothing but gibberish. A made-up language.

That changed with the last syllable, however.

A silver fog arose from nowhere. An echoing ring. A searing light boring through his eyes, into his head, taking residence there as a brutal pressure, one that threatened to split his skull in half. He fought it, pushed against it with everything he had, screamed at the top of his lungs while his hand muscles cramped with the effort of making a fist.

Then something _shifted_, and it all stopped. With a groan he dropped to his knees, touched his forehead with a shaking hand and was surprised to find it whole and free of blood. He swallowed past a throat gone rusty, forced his eyes open and climbed staggeringly to his feet.

It had worked; he could see that at a glance. He stood on a stone slab of sorts, perhaps a reception area for those bold and foolish enough to use the spell; below it lay irregular chunks of rock inside four walls without a ceiling, as though whoever had built the place hadn't quite finished it. Above, where the ceiling should be, was only blackness.

Rubbing an eyebrow, he gazed sideways at a grey-robed Shrine Knight slumped against one wall, eyes and mouth open, bleeding from the nose and ears. _Balk, I guess._ The sequence of events leading to that was clear as day: Balk had cast the spell but hadn't been strong enough to survive it, so it had transported his corpse here and Vormav had just left him there. _But that means he's here. I'm in the right place._

Letting the written spell flutter to the stone slab, Ramza hopped down and strode outside, into, literally, hell. A barren desert of rock stretching infinitely far in every direction, dotted with the occasional wisp of glowing spirit, the restless souls of the damned. A slow turn in place informed him that the building he'd come from had disappeared as soon as he'd set foot outside it.

_Well, whatever._ He hadn't been entirely truthful with Agrias. He didn't need the knife to defeat Vormav, and he'd left his friends back in Orbonne, but that didn't mean he wasn't ready to accept help.

Digging into his pouch, he pulled out the first Zodiac stone his fingers came into contact with. A blood-red ruby, Scorpio. _Figures._ With a shake of his head he gripped the stone, frowned into it. _One of your friends is here somewhere. I need you to find it for me, if you don't mind._

Silence. Nothing but wind howling over empty stone, the distant moans of the dead.

Something drew his narrowed eyes to one side, though. A nameless, gentle weight in his mind, as though he'd forgotten something over there but hadn't _completely_ forgotten about it.

Letting his hand drop, he shrugged and set off into the wind. Followed where the stone led him.

Some time later, hours at least, he found himself under a floating airship, staring up at it. He was mildly surprised nothing had attacked him while he'd been wandering, but Vormav was the only Lucavi here and he'd doubtless been busy with other matters. Or perhaps the stones had simply frightened off the locals.

Tucking Scorpio back in his pouch, he hopped atop a rusting anchor three times the size of a man and began to climb the chain leading up to the ship. The ascent proved easy, almost boring.

In moments he was on the airship's deck, frowning at the spectacle in its center. Vormav knelt there almost as though praying, and in front of him lay Ovelia, eyes closed, clearly unconscious, in a simple white dress. "I thought I'd find you here."

"And I thought you'd come," answered Vormav. His eyes were closed and his brow knitted in concentration; not a flicker of worry crossed his angular face at being discovered. "Do you really think you're going to kill me here?"

Ignoring the question, Ramza shuffled a few steps closer, squinting at the stone in the other man's hands. "Which one is that? Virgo?"

"It is."

Ramza nodded. "Meliadoul told me you needed a host body, but I didn't know it was _her_." He paused, tilting his head. "You really think Virgo's going to work? Is she even still a virgin? She and Delita are awfully close."

"That's not how it works," snapped Vormav without opening his eyes. "Virgo is for the purity of the Blood Angel, not a reflection of the state of the host."

"Uh-huh. And how long have you been here, trying to do that?"

Silence stretched. Eventually Vormav cracked open his eyes to regard Ramza with a thoughtful frown. "Perhaps you're right." Pushing himself to his feet, he slapped dust from his gold-armored knees and straightened. "Perhaps Virgo needs more blood. In that case, I will offer yours."

_Of course._ Without bothering to answer Ramza fired off a Wave Fist, careful not to damage Ovelia lying between him and his enemy, and bolted off to one side.

Vormav leapt to avoid the attack, flipping some six paces through the air, and landed with a savage sword slash that rumbled through the ship and shattered several deck planks, sending slivers of wood flying. Ramza skidded awkwardly back, out of the way, and focused an Earth Slash, but Vormav was glowing. Using his own stone.

Lightning arced in a shell around the Shrine Knight, merging into a blinding sphere, as the stone sucked in spirits from the surroundings like water swirling down a drain. When finally he exploded, Ramza was already attacking again, further shredding the ship's deck and punching the massive lion-like demon backwards.

Vormav -- Hashmalum -- hissed, gesturing; razor-sharp darkness laced through Ramza, spraying his blood in a broad arc behind him, but the beast attacked again, claws ripping, tearing skin and muscle like paper.

_No. On the offensive._ Ignoring the pain, ignoring how his breath bubbled, Ramza twisted an arm around one of the demon's and then punched the thing in the throat, twice, a third time. Hashmalum growled and heaved him aside, then summoned another stab of sinister magic; the attack struck Ramza in midair, drawing more blood and cramping his stomach, because he was already leaping back to attack. A swift kick to the thing's face, snapping its head back to expose the neck and abdomen to five more strikes, quick as lightning and hard as hammers. Bones cracked and shifted, and the demon howled, an eerie, angry sound that echoed in the endless underworld.

Skidding back, Hashmalum clutched its chest and breathed heavily. "You fight well," it murmured in a deep voice, dark eyes glittering like gems, "but I'm stronger than you are, here. You cannot win."

Ramza wiped blood from his eyes with a shaking hand and swallowed before speaking. "Yeah. You are stronger. But you also have a weakness here that I don't." _Not much time left. He's killing me._

"Oh?" Hashmalum tilted its head, more curious than worried. "And what's that?"

Rather than waste the breath on a reply, Ramza leapt into the air. But not at the demon.

At Ovelia.

"Wh-- Noooo!" Hashmalum scrambled into action, sprinting towards the motionless princess, diving to cover her, to protect her. "I need her! You can't--"

_So predictable._ Ramza's foot snapped out, connecting with hard demonic flesh, exactly where he'd anticipated Hashmalum would be. A dull, resounding thump; the wet crackle of snapping bones.

Hashmalum's momentum carried its massive body over Ovelia and into a panting heap beside her, while Ramza sprawled awkwardly on his face a few paces away. Then he climbed to his feet, planting a hand on his blood-soaked knee to keep himself semi-upright. His eyes sought out Hashmalum and waited.

Slowly, ponderously, the demon pushed itself to sit upright. Felt with trembling fingers at its head and neck.

_Amazing._ Ramza shook his head, too tired to speak. _That thing can move even with a broken neck?_

"You... you fool!" Hashmalum's voice gurgled now, and had grown raspy and shallow. "You nearly...." A low growl built arose in its throat, quickly turning into a howl of rage, directed at the smothering blackness where the heavens should be. "No! Master! I offer my own life, my own blood! Be resurrected!" Holding its arms wide, Hashmalum extended claws like daggers, then plunged them into its own chest.

For a long moment the demon remained like that, before slowly slumping back to the deck of the airship, to a puddle of black blood. Then it exploded, sending light and fury lancing in every direction, moaning long and low in frustrated agony. When it finished, Leo dropped to the deck with a wet click.

_Dumbass._ Ramza sighed, then made his way towards Ovelia, or tried to; his legs wobbled and gave out, forcing him to crawl. A gentle grip on the girl's shoulder, a worried shake, left bloodstains on the pure white silk of her dress. "O... Ovelia? Are you..."

Her eyes fluttered, then snapped open. For a heartbeat she stared wildly around, clearly not recognizing a thing, before her gaze settled on him. Then she gasped, sitting upright in a hurry, scooting away as one panicked hand clutched at her chest. "Ramza? What... where are...?"

"You were kidnapped," he explained. "Vormav took--" A fit of coughing interrupted him and he grimaced, twisting aside, hoping to shield the princess from the sight of him coughing up blood.

"Where are we?" Her voice was a terrified whisper. "And what happened? This is... I don't...."

Ramza shook his head and pointed a shaking finger at fallen Virgo lying next to her. _Not enough time to explain._ "Take... take that stone."

"This one?" She gripped it gingerly, perhaps afraid of its power, perhaps just unwilling to get blood on her fingers.

"Yes. It can... can take you back." He paused, drawing a deep breath, but slowly, so as not to aggravate his punctured lungs. "You love Delita, right?"

She blinked at him, then lowered her gaze. A shy smile touched her lips as her cheeks flushed a faint rose. "Yes."

"Good. Just... just think of that. Hold that in your mind and...." Pressure in his stomach flared to a burning pain and Ramza froze, eyes squeezed shut, teeth clenched. "Just... think of him," he instructed in a hoarse whisper. "And ask the stone for help in bringing you to him." _I hope that works. _"And then have him destroy the stone afterwards."

"Um... what about you?" She was watching him now, in concern rather than fear, holding the Zodiac stone tightly to her breast.

"Are you kidding me? I've had worse than...." More coughing interrupted him, curling him up, pressing his face against the rough deck of the ship, and this time he couldn't hide it from the princess. Long moments later he managed to straighten, to hold himself up while his crippled arm clutched uselessly at his midsection. Turning his head to face her took all the strength he could muster. "I'll... be fine. I have things to... but... you're the priority. Just go and leave the rest to me."

She met his gaze, wide brown eyes seeming almost hypnotized, before glancing away. "O... okay. I will. And... Ramza?"

"Mmm."

"I figured if anyone would rescue me it would have been Delita, but... thank you." She leaned forward, pressed a gentle kiss against his sweat-damp hair. "I'll... let him know. About here, about you."

_She knows._ He closed his eyes. "Just go."

She didn't answer, just sat there without moving. Shortly a soft white light flashed, visible even through his eyelids. She was gone.

Letting his breath out in a ragged sigh, Ramza flopped to his back and fumbled around behind his head until his numb fingers encountered the hard shape of Leo. Held it up before his face, regarded the blood-damp stone in his fist for a moment. Then, setting it on the deck next to his waist, he dug into his pouches again, rooting past the other stones, until he found what he wanted. A lump of cold metal, something the chemist had had an obscure name for, but Ramza cared only that it was hard. The holy stones had powers he didn't understand, didn't _want_ to understand, but ultimately they were still gemstones.

One swing of his arm, one solid crack, was all it took to break Leo into a dozen sharp pieces. Rolling his eyes, he let the others tumble from his belt pouches and did the same to them, before finally tossing the lump of metal away.

_Finally. _Letting his head thump back to the deck, into a pool of Zodiac dust and his own blood, he stared up at the black sky and waited. _Is she going to be angry when she sees me? Probably._

As his breath bubbled and his body grew cold, he did something he hadn't done in a long time. Not for almost two years, since before Alma died.

He smiled.

* * *

_A/N: Yes. Yes, that is the end._

_I was trying to figure out why I felt so relieved at finishing this story and then realized, ah, yes, it's because I've been working on it for OVER A YEAR. That's not the most effort I've put into writing something, but it is for a fanfic. Sheesh._

_As usual serious thanks go out to everyone who read and reviewed. You're why I write, and for a story which sucked up as much time as this one did for me, your feedback is doubly important to me. I'm actually surprised that this one has gotten such a good reception, since I kinda figured people would object to this kind of grim Ramza, but I'm not going to complain. On the contrary I giggle and glow over every review you guys leave, even if it's just a "moar!!1" or it's critical. I don't know of a way to continue on this vein without lapsing into a self-serving shout-out, but the moral of the story is you guys rock and you all deserve a fist-bump._

_Also, much credit is due to Jeretarius, without whose hard work and keen insight this story would not have been nearly as good or plausible. So if you liked it, he deserves your thanks as well.  
_


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